>^ 


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Wk 


PIERRE  LOTI 


An    Iceland 
Fisherman 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    FRENCH 

WITH  A  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTION  ' 

BY  HIS  EXCELLENCY  M.  JULES  CAMBOM* 

AMBASSADOR  EXTRAORDINARY  AND 

PLENIPOTENTIARY  OF  FRANCE 

TO  THE  UNITED  STATES 

A    FRONTISPIECE     AND     NUMEROUS 

OTHER       PORTRAITS       WITH 

DESCRIPTIVE  NOTES  BY 

OCTAVE     UZANNl 


P»  F»  COLLIER   dr-  SON 
NEW    YORK 


^l(c 

VU-5 

pl^ 

/  <»oa. 

COPYRIGHT,    1902 

D.     APPLETON    &    COMPANY 

CN9LISH  1 

♦f^a  v^<» 

\ 


PIERRE   LOTI 


The  first  appearance  of  Pierre  Loti's  works, 
twenty  years  ago,  caused  a  sensation  throughout 
those  circles  wherein  the  creations  of  intellect  and 
imagination  are  felt,  studied,  and  discjisspd. ,  The 
author  was  one  who,  with  a  power  ^wliieh  no  one 
had  wielded  before  him,  carried  off -his  r-eade;:^. 
into  exotic  lands,  and  whose  art,  in  appearance 
most  simple,  proved  a  genuine  enchantment  for 
the  imagination.  It  was  the  time  when  M.  Zola 
and  his  school  stood  at  the  head  of  the  literary 
movement.  There  breathed  forth  from  Loti's 
writings  an  all-penetrating  fragrance  of  poesy, 
which  liberated  French  literary  ideals  from  the 
heavy  and  oppressive  yoke  of  the  Naturalistic 
school.  Truth  now  soared  on  unhampered  pin- 
ions, and  the  reading  world  was  completely  won 
by  the  unsurpassed  intensity  and  faithful  accu- 
racy with  which  he  depicted  the  alluring  charms 
of  far-off  scenes,  and  paint-ed  the  naive  soul  of 
the  races  that    seem  to  endure  in  the  isles  of 

VOL.  20  V  Romances  1 

442829 


Pierre  Loti 

the  Pacific  as  surviving  representatives  of  the 
world's  infancy. 

It  was  then  learned  that  this  independent 
writer  was  named  in  real  life  Louis  Marie  Julien 
Viaud,  and  that  he  was  a  naval  officer.  This 
very  fact,  that  he  was  not  a  writer  by  profession, 
added  indeed  to  his  success.  He  actually  had 
seen  that  which  he  was  describing,  he  had  lived 
that  which  he  was  relating.  What  in  any  other 
man  would  have  seemed  but  research  and  oddity, 
remained  natural  in  the  case  of  a  sailor  who  re- 
turned'each  year  with  a  manuscript  in  his  hand. 

'«\:  :''i  i-':^^^^»^^'^^^»^  ^^^  isles  of  the  Pacific,  were  the 
usual  scenes  of  his  dramas.  Finally,  from  France 
itself,  and  from  the  oldest  provinces  of  France, 
he  drew  subject-matter  for  two  of  his  novels,  An 
Iceland  Fisherman  and  Ramuntcho,  This  proved 
a  surprise.  Our  Breton  sailors  and  our  Basque 
mountaineers  were  not  less  foreign  to  the  Pa- 
risian drawing-room  than  was  Aziyad^  or  the 
little  Rahahu.  One  claimed  to  have  a  knowledge 
of  Brittany,  or  of  the  Pyrenees,  because  one  had 
visited  Dinard  or  Biarritz ;  while  in  reality 
neither  Tahiti  nor  the  Isle  of  Piques  could  have 
remained  more  completely  unknown  to  us. 

The  developments  of  human  industry  have 
brought  the  extremities  of  the  world  nearer  to« 

vi 


Pierre  Loti 

gether;  but  the  soul  of  each  race  continues  to 
cloak  itself  in  its  own  individuality  and  to  re- 
main a  mystery  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  One 
trait  alone  is  common  to  all :  the  infinite  sadness 
of  human  destiny^  This  it  was  that  Loti  im- 
pressed so  vividly  on  the  reading  world. 

His  success  was  greats  Though  a  young 
man  as  yet,  Loti  saw  his  work  crowned  with 
i  what  in  France  may  be  considered  the  supreme 
sanction :  he  was  elected  to  membership  in  the 
French  Academy.  His  name  became  coupled 
with  those  of  Bemardin  de  St.  Pierre  and  of  Cha- 
teaubriand. With  the  sole  exception  of  the  au- 
thor of  Paul  and  Virginia  and  of  the  writer  of 
Atala,  he  seemed  to  be  one  without  a  predeces- 
sor and  without  a  master.  It  may  be  well  here  to 
inquire  how  much  reason  there  is  for  this  asser- 
tion, and  what  novel  features  are  presented  in 
his  work. 

..  .•  .  *•• 

It  has  become  a  trite  saying  that   French 

genius  lacks  the  sense  of  Nature,  that  the  French 

tongue  is  colourless,  and  therefore  wants  the  most 

striking  feature  of  poetry.     If  we  abandoned  for 

one  moment  the  domain  of  letters  and  took  a 

comprehensive  view  of  the  field  of  art,  we  might 

be  permitted  to  express  astonishment  at  the  pass- 

vii 


Pierre  Loti 

mg  of  so  summary  a  judgment  on  the  genius  of 
a  nation  which  has,  in  the  real  sense  of  the  term, 
produced  two  such  painters  of  Nature  as  Claude 
Lorrain  and  Corot.  But  even  in  the  realm  of 
letters  it  is  easily  seen  that  this  mode  of  thinking 
is  due  largely  to  insufficient  knowledge  of  the 
language's  resources,  and  to  a  study  of  French 
literature  which  does  not  extend  beyond  the 
seventeenth  century.  Without  going  back  to 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  to  Villon,  one  need 
only  read  a  few  of  the  poets  of  the  sixteenth 
century  to  be  struck  by  the  prominence  given  to 
Nature  in  their  writings.  Nothing  is  more  de- 
lightful than  Ronsard's  word-paintings  of  his 
sweet  country  of  Vendome.  Until  the  day  of 
Malherbe,  the  didactic  Regnier  and  the  Calvinis- 
tic  Marot  are  the  only  two  who  could  be  said  to 
give  colour  to  the  preconceived  and  prevalent 
notion  as  to  the  dryness  of  French  poetry.  And 
even  after  Malherbe,  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
we  find  that  La  Fontaine,  the  most  truly  French 
of  French  writers,  was  a  passionate'  lover  of  Na- 
ture. He  who  can  see  nothing  in  the  latter's 
fables  beyond  the  little  ^dramas  which  they  un- 
fold and  the  ordinary  moral  which  the  poet  draws 
therefrom,  must  confess  that  he  fails  to  under- 
stand him.       His   landscapes   possess   precision, 

viii 


Pierre  Loti 

accuracy,  and  life,  while  such  is  the  fragrance  of 
his  speech  that  it  seems  laden  with  the  fresh  per- 
fume of  the  fields  and  furrows. 

Racine  himself,  the  most  penetrating  and  the 
most  psychological  of  poets,  is  too  well  versed  in 
the  human  soul  not  to  have  felt  its  intimate 
union  with  Nature.  His  magnificent  verse  in 
Ph^dre, 

•*Ah!   que  ne  suis-je  assise  h  Tombre  des  fordts!" 

is  but  the  cry  of  despair,  the  appeal,  filled  with 
anguish,  of  a  heart  that  is  troubled  and  which 
oft  has  sought  peace  and  alleviation  amid  the 
cold  indifference  of  inanimate  things.  The  small 
place  given  to  Nature  in  the  French  literature  of 
the  seventeenth  century  is  not  to  be  ascribed  to 
the  language  nor  explained  by  a  lack  of  sensi- 
bility on  the  part  of  the  race.  The  true  cause  is 
to  be  found  in  the  spirit  of  that  period ;  for  in- 
vestigation will  disclose  that  the  very  same  con- 
dition then  characterized  the  literatures  of  Eng- 
land, of  Spain,  and  of  Italy. 

We  must  bear  in  mind  that,  owing  to  an 
almost  unique  combination  of  circumstances, 
there  never  has  been  a  period  when  man  was 
more  convinced  of  the  nobility  and,  I  dare  say 

it,  of  the  sovereignty  of   man,  or  was  more  in- 

ix 


Pierre  Loti 

clined  to  look  upon  the  latter  as  a  being  inde- 
pendent of  the  external  world.  He  did  not  sus- 
pect the  intimately  close  bonds  which  unite  the 
creature  to  the  medium  in  which  it  lives.  A 
man  of  the  world  in  the  seventeenth  century  was 
utterly  without  a  notion  of  those  truths  which  in 
their  ensemble  constitute  the  natural  sciences. 
He  crossed  the  threshold  of  life  possessed  of  a 
deep  classical  instruction,  and  all-imbued  with 
stoical  ideas  of  virtue.  At  the  same  time,  he  had 
received  the  mould  of  a  strong  but  narrow  Chris- 
tian education,  in  which  nothing  figured  save  his 
relations  with  God.  This  twofold  training  ele- 
vated his  soul  and  fortified  his  will,  but  wrenched 
him  violently  from  all  communion  with  Nature. 
This  is  the  standpoint  from  which  we  must  view 
the  heroes  of  Corneille,  if  we  would  understand 
those  extraordinary  souls  which,  always  at  the 
highest  degree  of  tension,  deny  themselves,  as  a 
weakness,  everything  that  resembles  tenderness 
or  pity.  Again,  thus  and  thus  alone  can  we 
explain  how  Descartes,  and  with  him  all  the 
philosophers  of  his  century,  ran  counter  to  all 
common  sense,  and  refused  to  recognise  that 
animals  might  possess  a  soul-like  principle  which, 
however  remotely,  might  link  them  to  the 
human  being. 


Pierre  Loti 

When,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  minds 
became  emancipated  from  the  narrow  restric- 
tions of  religious  discipline,  and  when  method 
was  introduced  into  the  study  of  scientific  prob- 
lems, Nature  took  her  revenge  as  well  in  litera- 
ture as  in  all  other  fields  of  human  thou'^ht. 
Rousseau  it  was  who  inaugurated  the  movement 
in  France,  and  the  whole  of  Europe  followed  in 
the  wake  of  France.  It  may  even  be  declared 
that  the  reaction  against  the  seventeenth  century 
was  in  many  respects  excessive,  for  the  eight- 
eenth century  gave  itself  up  to  a  species  of  senti- 
mental debauch.  It  is  none  the  less  a  fact  that 
the  author  of  La  Nouvelle  Hdloise  was  the  first 
to  blend  the  moral  life  of  man  with  his  exterior 
surroundings.  He  felt  the  savage  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  the  mountains  of  Switzerland,  the 
grace  of  the  Savoy  horizons,  and  the  more 
familiar  elegance  of  the  Parisian  suburbs.  We 
may  say  that  he  opened  the  eye  of  humanity  to 
the  spectacle  which  the  world  offered  it.  In 
Germany,  Lessing,  Goethe,  Hegel,  Schelling 
have  proclaimed  him  their  master ;  while  even  in 
England,  Byron,  and  George  Eliot  herself,  have 
recognised  all  that  they  owed  to  him. 

The  first  of  Rousseau's  disciples  in   France 

was  Bernardin   de    St.  Pierre,  whose   name  has 

xi 


Pierre  Loti 

frequently  been  recalled  in  connection  with  Loti. 
Indeed,  the  charming  masterpiece  of  Paul  and 
Virginia  was  the  first  example  of  exoticism  in 
literature;  and  thereby  it  excited  the  curiosity 
of  our  fathers  at  the  same  time  that  it  dazzled 
them  by  the  wealth  and  brilliancy  of  its  de- 
scriptions. 

Then  came  Chateaubriand ;  but  Nature  with 
him  was  not  a  mere  background.  He  sought 
from  it  an  accompaniment,  in  the  musical  sense 
of  the  term,  to  the  movements  of  his  soul ;  and 
being  somewhat  prone  to  melancholy,  his  taste 
seems  to  have  favoured  sombre  landscapes,  stormy 
and  tragical.  The  entire  romantic  school  was 
born  from  him,  Victor  Hugo  and  George  Sand, 
Th^ophile  Gautier  who  draws  from  the  French 
tongue  resources  unequalled  in  wealth  and  in 
colour,  and  even  M.  Zola  himself,  whose  natural- 
ism, after  all,  is  but  the  last  form  and,  as  it  were, 
the  end  of  romanticism,  since  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  discover  in  him  any  characteristic  that  did 
not  exist,  as  a  germ  at  least,  in  Balzac. 

I  have  just  said  that  Chateaubriand  sought  in 
Nature  an  accompaniment  to  the  movements  of 
his  soul :  this  was  the  case  with  all  the  romanti- 
cists.    We  do  not  find  Ren^,  Manfred,  Indiana, 

living  in  the  midst  of  a  tranquil  and  monotonous 

xii 


Pierre  Loti 

Nature.  The  storms  of  heaven  must  respond  to 
the  storms  of  their  soul ;  and  it  is  a  fact  that  all 
these  great  writers,  Byron  as  well  as  Victor 
Hugo,  have  not  so  much  contemplated  and  seen 
Nature  as  they  have  interpreted  it  through  the 
medium  of  their  own  passions ;  and  it  is  in  this 
sense  that  the  keen  Amiel  could  justly  remark 
that  a  landscape  is  a  condition  or  a  state  of  the 
soul. 

M.  Loti  does  not  merely  interpret  a  land- 
scape ;  though  perhaps,  to  begin  with,  he  is 
unconscious  of  doing  more.  With  him,  the 
human  being  is  a  part  of  Nature,  one  of  its  very 
expressions,  like  animals  and  plants,  mountain 
forms  and  sky  tints.  His  characters  are  what 
they  are  only  because  they  issue  forth  from  the 
medium  in  which  they  live.  They  are  truly 
creatures,  and  not  gods  inhabiting  the  earth. 
Hence  their  profound  and  striking  reality. 
'  Hence  also  one  of  the  peculiar  characteristics 
of  Loti's  workers.  He  loves  to  paint  simple 
souls,  hearts  close  to  Nature,  whose  primitive 
passions  are  singularly  similar  to  those  of  ani- 
mals. He  is  happy  in  the  isles  of  the  Pacific  or 
on  the  borders  of  Senegal ;  and  when  he  shifts 

his   scenes   into   old    Europe   it   is   never   with 

xiii 


Pierre  Loti 

men  and  women  of  the  world  that  he  enter- 
tains us. 

What  we  call  a  man  of  the  world  is  the  same 
everywhere;  he  is  moulded  by  the  society  of 
men,  but  Nature  and  the  universe  have  no  place 
in  his  life  and  thought.  M.  Paul  Bourget's 
heroes  might  live  without  distinction  in  New- 
port or  in  Monte  Carlo;  they  take  root  no- 
where, but  live  in  the  large  cities,  in  winter 
resorts  and  in  drawing-rooms  as  transient  visitors 
in  temporary  abiding-places. 

Loti  seeks  his  heroes  and  his  heroines  among 
those  antique  races  of  Europe  which  have  sur- 
vived all  conquests,  and  which  have  preserved, 
with  their  native  tongue,  the  individuality  of 
their  character.  He  met  Ramuntcho  in  the 
Basque  country,  but  dearer  than  all  to  him  is 
Brittany :  here  it  was  that  he  met  his  Iceland 
fishermen. 

The  Breton  soul  bears  an  imprint  of  Armori- 

ca's  primitive  soil :    it  is  melancholy  and  noble. 

There  is  an  undefinable  charm  about  those  arid 

lands  and    those    sod-flanked   hills   of    granite, 

whose    sole  horizon   is    the    far-stretching    sea. 

Europe  ends  here,  and  beyond  remains  only  the 

broad  expanse  of  the  ocean.     The  poor  people 

who  dwell  here  are  silent  and  tenacious :  their 

xiv 


Pierre  Loti 

heart  is  full  of  tenderness  and  of  dreams.  Yann, 
the  Iceland  fisherman,  and  his  sweetheart,  Gaud 
of  Paimpol,  can  only  live  here,  in  the  small 
houses  of  Brittany,  where  people  huddle  together 
in  a  stand  against  the  storms  which  come  howl- 
ing from  the  depths  of  the  Atlantic. 

Loti's  novels  are  never  complicated  with  a 
mass  of  incidents.  The  characters  are  of  humble 
station  and  their  life  is  as  simple  as  their  soul. 
Aziyadd,  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi,  An  Iceland 
Fisherman,  Ramuntcho,  all  present  the  story  of  a 
love  and  a  separation.  A  departure,  or  death  itself, 
intervenes  to  put  an  end  to  the  romance.  But 
the  cause  matters  little;  the  separation  is  the 
same  ;  the  hearts  are  broken  ;  Nature  survives ;  it 
covers  over  and  absorbs  the  miserable  ruins  which 
we  leave  behind  us.  No  one  better  than  Loti 
has  ever  brought  out  the  frailty  of  all  things  per- 
taining to  us,  for  no  one  better  than  he  has  made 
us  realize  the  persistency  of  life  and  the  indiffer- 
ence of  Nature. 

This  circumstance  imparts  to  the  reading  of 
M.  Loti's  works  a  character  of  peculiar  sadness. 
The  trend  of  his  novels  is  not  one  that  incites 
curiosity  ;  his  heroes  are  simple,  and  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  they  live  is  foreign  to  us.  What 
saddens  us  is  not  their  history,  but  the  undefin- 

XV 


Pierre  Loti 

able  impression  that  our  pleasures  are  nothing 
and  that  we  are  but  an  accident.  This  is  a 
thought  common  to  the  degree  of  triteness 
among  moralists  and  theologians ;  but  as  they 
present  it,  it  fails  to  move  us.  It  troubles  us  as 
presented  by  M.  Loti,  because  he  has  known 
how  to  give  it  all  the  force  of  a  sensation. 

How  has  he  accomplished  this  ? 

He  writes  with  extreme  simplicity,  and  is  not 
averse  to  the  use  of  vague  and  indefinite  expres- 
sions. And  yet  the  wealth  and  precision  of 
Gautier's  and  Hugo's  language  fail  to  endow 
their  landscapes  with  the  striking  charm  and  in- 
tense life  which  are  to  be  found  in  those  of  Loti. 
I  can  find  no  other  reason  for  this  than  that 
which  I  have  suggested  above :  the  landscape,  in 
Hugo's  and  in  Gautier's  scenes,  is  a  background 
and  nothing  more ;  while  Loti  makes  it  the  pre- 
dominating figure  of  his  drama.  Our  sensibilities 
are  necessarily  aroused  before  this  apparition  of 
Nature,  blind,  inaccessible,  and  all-powerful  as 
the  Fates  of  old. 

It  may  prove  interesting  to  inquire  how  Loti 
contrived  to  sound  such  a  new  note  in  art. 

He  boasted,  on  the  day  of  his  reception  into 
the  French  Academy,  that  he  had  never  read, 

xvi 


Pierre  Loti 

Many  protested,  some  smiled,  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  persons  refused  to  believe  the  assertion. 
Yet  the  statement  was  actually  quite  credible, 
for  the  foundation  and  basis  of  M.  Loti  rest  on 
a  naive  simplicity  which  makes  him  very  sensi- 
tive to  the  things  of  the  outside  world,  and  gives 
him  a  perfect  comprehension  of  simple  souls. 
He  is  not  a  reader,  for  he  is  not  imbued  with 
book  notions  of  things;  his  ideas  of  them  are 
direct,  and  everything  with  him  is  not  memory, 
but  reflected  sensation. 

On  the  other  hand,  that  sailor-life  which  has 
enabled  him  to  see  the  world,  must  have  con- 
firmed in  him  this  mental  attitude.  The  deck 
officer  who  watches  the  vessel's  course  may  do 
nothing  which  could  distract  his  attention  ;  but 
while  ever  ready  to  act  and  always  unoccupied, 
he  thinks,  he  dreams,  he  listens  to  the  voices  of 
the  sea ;  and  everything  about  him  is  of  interest 
to  him,  the  shape  of  the  clouds,  the  aspect  of 
skies  and  waters.  He  knows  that  a  mere  board's 
thickness  is  all  that  separates  him  and  defends 
him  from  death.  Such  is  the  habitual  state  of 
mind  which  M.  Loti  has  brought  to  the  colouring 
of  his  books. 

He  has  related  to  us  how,  when  still  a  little 
child,  he  first  beheld  the  sea.     He  had  escaped 

xvii 


Pierre  Loti 

from  the  parental  home,  allured  by  the  brisk  and 

pungent  air  and  by  the  **  peculiar  noise,  at  once 

feeble  and  great,"  which  could  be  heard  beyond 

little  hills  of  sand  to  which  led  a  certain  path. 

He  recognised  the  sea :  *'  before  me  something 

appeared,  something   sombre  and  noisy,  which 

had  loomed  up  from  all  sides  at  once,  and  which 

seemed   to   have    no   end ;    a   moving  expanse 

which  struck  me  with  mortal  vertigo  ;  .  .  .  above 

was  stretched  out  full  a  sky  all  of  one  piece,  of  a 

dark  gray  colour  like  a  heavy  mantle  ;  very,  very 

far  away,  in   unmeasurable   depths   of   horizon, 

could  be  seen  a  break,  an  opening  between  sea 

and  sky,  a  long  empty  crack,  of  a  light  pale 

yellow."      He   felt    a    sadness    unspeakable,    a 

sense  of  desolate  solitude,  of  abandonment,  of 

exile.     He  ran  back  in  haste  to  unburden  his 

soul  upon  his  mother's  bosom,  and,  as  he  says, 

"to  seek   consolation  with  her  for  a  thousand 

anticipated,     indescribable     pangs,    which     had 

wrung  my  heart  at  the  sight  of  that  vast  green, 

deep  expanse." 

A  poet  of  the  sea  had  been  born,  and  his 

genius  still  bears  a  trace  of  the  shudder  of  fear 

experienced   that   evening   by    Pierre    Loti   the 

little  child. 

Loti  was  born  not  far  from  the  ocean,  in 
xviii 


Pierre  Loti 

Saintonge,  of  an  old  Huguenot  family  which 
had  numbered  many  sailors  among  its  members. 
While  yet  a  mere  child  he  thumbed  the  old  Bible 
which  formerly,  in  the  days  of  persecution,  had 
been  read  only  with  cautious  secrecy ;  and  he 
perused  the  vessel's  ancient  records  wherein 
mariners  long  since  gone  had  noted,  almost  a 
century  before,  that  "the  weather  was  good," 
that  **  the  wind  was  favourable,"  and  that  **  do- 
radoes  or  gilt-heads  were  passing  near  the  ship." 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  music.  He  had 
few  comrades,  and  his  imagination  was  of  the 
exalted  kind.  His  first  ambition  was  to  be  a 
minister,  then  a  missionary ;  and  finally  he  de- 
cided to  become  a  sailor.  He  wanted  to  see  the 
world,  he  had  the  curiosity  of  things ;  he  was 
inclined  to  search  for  the  strange  and  the  un- 
known ;  he  must  seek  that  sensation,  delightful 
and  fascinating  to  complex  souls,  of  betaking 
himself  off,  of  withdrawing  from  his  own  world, 
of  breaking  with  his  own  mode  of  life,  and  of 
creating  for  himself  voluntary  regrets. 

He  felt  in  the  presence  of  Nature  a  species 
of  disquietude,  and  experienced  therefrom  sensa- 
tions  which  might  almost  be  expressed  in  col- 
ours :  his  head,  he  himself  states,  "  might  be  com- 
pared to  a  camera,  filled  with  sensitive  plates." 

xix 


Pierre  Loti 

This  power  of  vision  permitted  him  to  appre- 
hend only  the  appearance  of  things,  not  their 
reality ;  he  was  conscious  of  the  nothingness  of 
nothing,  of  the  dust  of  dust.  The  remnants  of 
his  religious  education  intensified  still  more  this 
distaste  for  the  external  world. 

He  was  wont  to  spend  his  summer  vacation 
in  the  south  of  France,  and  he  preserved  its 
warm,  sunny  impressions.  It  was  only  later 
that  he  became  acquainted  with  Brittany.  She 
inspired  him  at  first  with  a  feeling  of  oppression 
and  of  sadness,  and  it  was  long  before  he  learned 
to  love  her. 

Thus  was  formed  and  developed,  far  from 
literary  circles  and  from  Parisian  coteries,  one 
of  the  most  original  writers  that  had  appeared 
for  a  long  time.  •  He  noted  his  impressions  while 
touring  the  world ;  one  fine  morning  he  pub- 
lished them,  and  from  the  very  first  the  read- 
ing public  was  won.  He  related  his  adventures 
and  his  own  romance.  The  question  could  then 
be  raised  whether  his  skill  and  art  would  prove 
as  consummate  if  he  should  deviate  from  his 
own  personality  to  write  what  might  be  termed 
impersonal  poems ;  and  it  is  precisely  in  this  last 
direction  that  he  subsequently  produced  what 
are  now  considered  his  masterpieces. 

XX 


Pierre  Loti 

A  strange  writer  assuredly  is  this,  at  one© 
logical  and  illusive,  who  makes  us  feel  at  the 
same  time  the  sensation  of  things  and  that  of 
their  nothingness.  Amid  so  many  works  where- 
in the  luxuries  of  the  Orient,  the  quasi  animal 
life  of  the  Pacific,  the  burning  passions  of  Africa, 
are  painted  with  a  vigour  of  imagination  never 
witnessed  before  his  advent.  An  Iceland  Fisher- 
man  shines  forth  with  incomparable  brilliancy. 
Something  of  the  pure  soul  of  Brittany  is  to  be 
found  in  these  melancholy  pages,  which,  so  long 
as  the  French  tongue  endures,  must  evoke  the 
admiration  of  artists,  and  must  arouse  the  pity 
;^id  stir  the  emotions  of  men. 

Jules  Cambon. 


ssi 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 


*  The  real  name  of  Pierre  Loti  is  Louis 
Marie  Julien  Viaud.  He  was  born  of  Protes- 
tant  parents,  in  the  old  city  of  Rochefort,  on  the 
l^th  of  January y  18^0,  In  one  of  his  pleasant 
volumes  of  autobiography,  **  Le  Roman  cTun  En- 
fant^* he  has  given  a  very  pleasing  account  of  his 
childhood,  which  was  most  tenderly  cared  for  and 
surrounded  with  indulgences.  At  a  very  early 
age  he  began  to  develop  that  extreme  sensitiveness 
to  external  influences  which  has  distinguished 
him  ever  since.  He  was  first  taught  at  a  school 
in  Rochefort,  but  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  being 
destined  for  the  navy,  he  entered  the  great  French 
naval  school,  Le  Borda,  and  has  gradually  risen 
in  his  profession.  His  pseudonym  is  said  to  have 
had  reference  to  his  extreme  shyness  and  reserve 
in  early  life,  which  made  his  comrades  call  him 
after  "  le  Loti!'  ^^  Indian  flower  which  loves  to 
blush  unseen.     He  was  never  given  to  books  or 

study  (when  he  was  received  at  the  French  Acad' 

xxiii 


Biographical  Note 

emy^  he  had  the  courage  to  say^  "  Loti  ne  sait  pas 
lire "),  and  it  was  not  until  his  thirtieth  year 
that  he  was  persuaded  to  write  down  and  publish 
certain  curious  experiences  at  Constantinople,  in 
**  Aziyad^y*  a  book  which,  like  so  many  of  Loti* s^ 
seems  half  a  romance,  half  an  autobiography. 
He  proceeded  to  the  South  Seas,  and,  on  leaving 
Tahiti,  published  the  Polynesian  idyl,  originally 
called  "  Raharu,"  which  was  reprinted  as  ''  Le 
Mariage  de  Loti''  (^i88d),  and  which  first  intrth 
duced  to  the  wider  public  an  author  of  remark 
able  originality  and  charm.  Loti  now  became 
extremely  prolific,  and  in  a  succession  of  volumes 
chronicled  old  exotic  memories  or  manipulated  the 
journal  of  new  travels.  "Z^  Roman  d'un 
Spahi,**  a  record  of  the  melancholy  adventures  of 
a  soldier  in  Senegambia,  belongs  to  1881.  In  1882 
Loti  issued  a  collection  of  short  studies  under  the 
general  title  of  "  Fleurs  d'EnnuiJ'  In  1883  he 
achieved  the  widest  celebrity,  for  not  only  did  he 
publish  " Mon  Frhre  Yves''  a  novel  describing 
the  life  of  a  French  bluejacket  in  all  parts  of  the 
world— perhaps,  on  the  whole,  to  this  day  his 
most  characteristic  production — but  he  was  in- 
volved in  a  public  discussion  in  a  manner  which 
did  him  great  credit.  While  taking  part  as  a 
naval  officer  in  the  Tonquin  war,  Loti  had  ex* 

xxiv 


Biographical  Note 

posed  in  a  Parisian  newspaper  a  seHes  of  scan* 
dais  which  succeeded  on  the  capture  of  Hui^  and^ 
being  recalled^  he  was  now  suspended  from  the 
service  for  more  than  a  year.  He  continued  for 
some  time  nearly  silent,  but  in  1886  he  published 
a  novel  of  life  among  the  Breton  fisher-folk,  en^ 
titled  *^  P^cheurf  dVslande'* ;  this  has  been  the 
most  popular  of  all  his  writings.  In  i88y  he 
brought  out  a  volume  of  extraordinary  merits 
which  has  never  received  the  attention  it  deserves ; 
this  is  "  Propos  d'Exil"  a  series  of  short  studies 
of  exotic  places,  in  Loti's  peculiar  semi-autobio- 
graphic style.  The  fantastic  romance  offapanese 
manners,  "  Madame  Chrysanth^me,"  belongs  to 
the  same  year.  Passing  over  one  or  two  slighter 
productions,  we  come,  in  18 go,  to  ^^  Au  Maroc," 
the  record  of  a  journey  to  Fez  in  company  with  a 
French  embassy,  A  collection  of  strangely  confi- 
dential and  sentimental  reminiscences,  called  ^^Le 
Livre  de  la  Pitii  et  de  la  Mort,'*  belongs  to  i8gi, 
Loti  was  on  board  his  ship  at  the  port  of  Algiers 
when  news  was  brought  to  him  of  his  election,  on 
the  2ist  of  May,  i8gi,  to  the  French  Academy, 
Since  he  has  become  an  Immortal  the  literary  ac- 
tivity of  Pierre  Loti  has  somewhat  declined.  In 
i8g2  he  published  ^^  Fantdme  d' Orient,"  another 
dreamy  study  of  life  in  Constantinople,  a  sort  of 

XXV 


Biographical  Note 

continuation  of  ^^  Aziyadi'*     He  has  described  a 

visit  to  the  Holy  Land  in  three  volumes^  **  Le  Di» 

$ert*'  '* Jerusalem"  ''La  GaliUe''  (iSpj-^d),  and 

he  has  written  one  novels  "  Ramentcho  "  (^i8gf),  a 

story  of  manners  in  the  Basque  province ^  which  is 

quite  on  a  level  with  his  best  work.     In  i8^  he 

collected  his  later  essays  as  "  Figures  et  C hoses  qui 

passaient**    In  iSgg-igoo  Loti  visited  British 

India,   and  in  the  autumn  of  the  latter  year 

China  ;  and  he  has  described  what  he  saw  there, 

after  the  siege^  in  a  charming  volumCy  **  Verniers 

Jours  de  Piking'  iqo2» 

E.  G. 


xxn 


CONTENTS 


Pierre  Loti 


VAGI 

v-xxii 


Life  of  Pierre  Loti 

Edmund  Gosse 


XXlll-XXVl 


An  Iceland  Fisherman  i 

PART  I 

ON   THE   ICY   SBA 

CNAPTXK 

I.  The  fishermen 3 

II.  Icelanders i6 

III.  The  women  at  home 19 

IV.  Fh-st  love 34 

V.  The  second  meeting     .....••••  39 

VI.     News  from  home 54 


PART  II 

IN    THE    BRETON    LAND 

I. 

The  plaything  of  the  storm       ,      .  ■   .      , 

.     .      67 

II. 

A  pardonable  ruse 

.     .     .      76 

III. 

Of  sinister  portent 

.     .      79 

IV. 

His  reluctance       ...... 

.     .      91 

V. 

Sailors  at  the  play .       .      .      •      .      • 

.     0     .      93 

VI. 

Ordered  on  foreign  service       .      .      • 
xxvii 

.     ,     •      94 

An  Iceland  Fisherman 

CMAPTM  tAGM 

VII.      Moan's  sweetheart     .••.....  95 

VIII.      Old  and  young 98 

IX.  The  eastern  voyage loi 

X.     The  Orient 106 

XI.     A  curious  rencontre 108 

XII.     Striking  the  rock  unknown I16 

XIII.     Home  news MO 

PART  m 

IN  THE   SHADOW 

I.     The  skirmish •      •      •      ,  1 27 

II.     «*  Out,  brief  candle  !" .132 

III.  The  grave  abroad 138 

IV,  To  the  survivors,  the  spdls 140 

V.     The  death-blow 143 

VI.     A  charitable  assumption 1 50 

VII.     The  comforter 151 

VIII.     The  brother's  grief 152 

IX.     Work  cures  sorrow .  1 54 

X.  The  white  fog 160 

XI.     The  spectre  ship 163 

XII.     The  strange  couple 170 

XIII.  Renewed  disappointment 177 

XIV.  The  Grandam  breaking  up 180 

XV.     The  new  ship 186 

XVI.      Lone  and  lorn 191 

XVII.     The  espousal 195 

PART  IV 
yann's  first  wedding 

I.     The  courting  by  the  sea 205 

II.     The  seaman's  secret •  207 

III.  The  ominous  wedding-dress    .      .      c      .       *      .  209 

IV.  Flower  of  the  thorn «     •      •  210 

xxviii 


CMAPTKR 
V. 
VI. 
VII. 

VIII. 


I. 

II. 
III. 

IV. 

V, 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 


Contents 

fAGB 

The  cost  of  obstinacy 212 

The  bridal 216 

The  discordant  note 220 

The  blissful  week 232 

PART  V 

THE    SECOND    WEDDING 

The  start 243 

The  first  of  the  fleet 250 

All  but  two 253 

Still  at  sea 254 

Sharing  the  dread 255 

All  but  one 259 

The  mourner's  vision 262 

The  false  alarm 265 

Wedded  to  the  sea 271 


The  Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

Octave  Uzanne 


273-280 


VOL.  20 


XXIX 


Romances  2 


AN   ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


PART  I 

ON  THE   ICY  SEA 


CHAPTER  I 

THE     FISHERMEN 

There  they  were,  five  huge,  square-built  sea- 
men, drinking  away  together  in  the  dismal  cabin, 
\yhich  reeked  of  fish-pickle  and  bilge-water.  The 
overhead  beams  came  down  too  low  for  their 
tall  statures,  and  rounded  off  at  one  end  so  as  to 
resemble  a  gull's  breast,  seen  from  within.  The 
whole  rolled  gently  with  a  monotonous  wail,  in- 
clining one  slowly  to  drowsiness. 

Outside,  beyond  doubt,  lay  the  sea  and  the 
night ;  but  one  could  not  be  quite  sure  of  that, 
for  a  single  opening  in  the  deck  was  closed  by  its 
weather-hatch,  and  the  only  light  came  from  an  old 
hanging-lamp,  swinging  to  and  fro.  A  fire  shone 
in  the  stove,  at  which  their  saturated  clothes  were 
drying,  and  giving  out  steam  that  mingled  with 
the  smoke  from  their  clay  pipes. 

Their  massive  table,  fitted  exactly  to  its  shape, 
occupied  the  whole  space  ;  and  there  was  just 
enough  room  for  moving  around  and  sitting 
upon  the  narrow  lockers  fastened  to  the  sides. 

3 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

Thick  beams  ran  above  them,  very  nearly  touch- 
ing their  heads,  and  behind  them  yawned  the 
berths,  apparently  hollowed  out  of  the  solid  tim- 
bers, like  recesses  of  a  vault  wherein  to  place  the 
dead.  All  the  wainscoting  was  rough  and  worn, 
impregnated  with  damp  and  salt,  defaced  and  pol- 
ished by  the  continual  rubbings  of  their  hands. 

They  had  been  drinking  wine  and  cider  in 
their  pannikins,  and  the  sheer  enjoyment  of  life 
lit  up  their  frank,  honest  faces.  Now,  they  lin- 
gered at  table  chatting,  in  Breton  tongue,  on 
women  and  marriage.  A  china  statuette  of  the 
Virgin  Mary  was  fastened  on  a  bracket  against 
the  midship  partition,  in  the  place  of  honour. 
This  patron  saint  of  our  sailors  was  rather  an- 
tiquated, and  painted  with  very  simple  art ;  yet 
these  porcelain  images  live  much  longer  than 
real  men,  and  her  red  and  blue  robe  still 
seemed  very  fresh  in  the  midst  of  the  sombre 
greys  of  the  poor  wooden  box.  She  must  have 
listened  to  many  an  ardent  prayer  in  deadly 
hours  ;  at  her  feet  were  nailed  two  nosegays  of 
artificial  flowers  and  a  rosary. 

These  half-dozen  men  were  dressed  alike ;  a 
thick  blue  woollen  jersey  clung  to  the  body, 
drawn  in  by  the  waist-belt ;  on  the  head  was 
worn  the  waterproof  helmet,  known  as  the  sou'- 

4 


The  Fishermen 

wester.  These  men  were  of  different  ages.  The 
skipper  might  have  been  about  forty ;  the  three 
others  between  twenty-five  and  thirty.  The 
youngest,  whom  they  called  Sylvestre  or  "  Lurlu," 
was  only  seventeen,  yet  already  a  man  for  height 
and  strength  ;  a  fine  curly  black  beard  covered 
his  cheeks  ;  still  he  had  childlike  eyes,  bluish-grey 
in  hue,  and  sweet  and  tender  in  expression. 

Huddled  against  one  another,  for  want  of 
space,  they  seemed  to  feel  downright  comfort, 
snugly  packed  in  their  dark  home. 

Outside  spread  the  ocean  and  night — ^the  infi- 
nite solitude  of  dark  fathomless  waters.  A  brass 
watch,  hung  on  the  wall,  pointed  to  eleven  o'clock 
— doubtless  eleven  at  night — and  upon  the  deck 
pattered  the  drizzling  rain. 

Among  themselves,  they  treated  these  ques- 
tions of  marriage  very  merrily  ;  but  without  say- 
ing anything  indecent.  No,  indeed,  they  only 
sketched  plans  for  those  who  were  still  bachelors, 
or  related  funny  stories  happening  at  home  at 
wedding-feasts.  Sometimes  with  a  happy  laugh 
they  made  some  rather  too  free  remarks  about 
the  fun  in  love-making.  But  love-making,  as 
these  men  understand  it,  is  always  a  healthy  sen- 
sation, and  for  all  its  coarseness  remains  tolerably 
chaste. 

5 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

But  Sylvestre  was  worried,  because  a  mate 
called  Jean  (which  Bretons  pronounce  *'  Yann  ") 
did  not  come  down  below.  Where  could  Yann 
be,  by  the  way  ?  was  he  lashed  to  his  work  on 
deck  ?  Why  did  he  not  come  below  to  take  his 
share  in  their  feast  ? 

"  It's  close  on  midnight,  hows'ever,"  observed 
the  captain  ;  and  drawing  himself  up  he  raised 
the  scuttle  with  his  head,  so  as  to  call  Yann  that 
way. 

Then  a  weird  glimmer  fell  from  above. 

**  Yann  !  Yann  !     Look  alive,  matey  ! " 

"Matey"  answered  roughly  from  outside, 
while  through  the  half-opened  hatchway  the  faint 
light  kept  entering  like  that  of  dawn.  Nearly 
midnight,  yet  it  looked  like  a  peep  of  day,  or  the 
light  of  the  starry  gloaming,  sent  from  afar 
through  mystic  lenses  of  magicians. 

When  the  aperture  closed,  night  reigned  again, 
save  for  the  small  lamp,  "  sended  "  now  and  again 
aside,  which  shed  its  yellow  light.  A  man  in 
clogs  was  heard  coming  down  the  wooden  steps. 

He  entered  bent  in  two  like  a  big  bear,  for  he 
was  a  giant.  At  first  he  made  a  wry  face,  hold- 
ing his  nose,  because  of  the  acrid  smell  of  the 
souse. 

He  exceeded  a  littlQ  too  much  the  ordinary 


The  Fishermen 

proportions  of  man,  especially  in  breadth,  though 
he  was  straight  as  a  poplar.  When  he  faced 
you  the  muscles  of  his  shoulders,  moulded  under 
his  blue  jersey,  stood  out  like  great  globes  at  the 
tops  of  his  arms.  His  large  brown  eyes  were 
very  mobile,  with  a  grand,  wild  expression. 

Sylvestre  threw  his  arms  round  Yann,  and 
drew  him  towards  him  tenderly,  after  the  fashion 
of  children.  Sylvestre  was  betrothed  to  Yann's 
sister,  and  he  treated  him  as  an  elder  brother,  of 
course.  And  Yann  allowed  himself  to  be  pulled 
about  like  a  young  lion,  answering  by  a  kind 
smile  that  showed  his  white  teeth.  These  were 
somewhat  far  apart,  and  appeared  quite  small. 
His  fair  moustache  was  rather  short,  although 
tiever  cut.  It  was  tightly  curled  in  small  rolls 
above  his  lips,  which  were  most  exquisitely  and 
delicately  modelled,  and  then  frizzed  off  at  the 
ends  on  either  side  of  the  deep  corners  of  his 
mouth.  The  remainder  of  his  beard  was  shaven, 
and  his  highly  coloured  cheeks  retained  a  fresh 
bloom  like  that  of  fruit  never  yet  handled. 

When  Yann  was  seated,  the  mugs  were  filled 
up  anew. 

The  lighting  of  all  the  pipes  was  an  excuse 
for  the  cabin  boy  to  smoke  a  few  whiffs  himself. 
He  was  a  robust  little  fellow,  with  round  cheeks 

7 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

— 3,  kind  of  little  brother  to  them  all,  more  or 
less  related  to  one  another  as  they  were ;  other- 
wise his  work  had  been  hard  enough  for  the 
darling  of  the  crew.  Yann  let  him  drink  out 
of  his  own  glass  before  he  was  sent  to  bed. 
Thereupon  the  important  topic  of  marriage  was 
revived. 

**  But  I  say,  Yann,"  asked  Sylvestre,  "  when 
are  we  going  to  celebrate  your  wedding  ?" 

**  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,"  said  the  master ; 
"  a  hulking  chap  like  you,  twenty-seven  years  old, 
and  not  yet  spliced ;  ho,  ho !  What  must  the 
lasses  think  of  you  when  they  see  you  roll  by  ?  " 

Yann  answered  by  snapping  his  thick  fingers 
with  a  contemptuous  look  for  the  women  folk. 
He  had  just  worked  off  his  five  years*  govern- 
ment naval  service  ;  and  it  was  as  master-gunner 
of  the  fleet  that  he  had  learned  to  speak  good 
French  and  hold  sceptical  opinions.  He  hemmed 
and  hawed  and  then  rattled  off  his  latest  love  ad- 
venture, which  had  lasted  a  fortnight. 

It  happened  in  Nantes,  a  Free-and-Easy  singer 
for  the  heroine.  One  evening,  returning  from 
the  waterside,  being  slightly  tipsy,  he  had  entered 
the  music  hall.  At  the  door  stood  a  woman  sell- 
ing big  bouquets  at  twenty  francs  apiece.  He 
had  bought  one  without  quite  knowing  what  he 


The  Fishermen 

should  do  with  it,  and  before  he  was  much  more 
than  in  had  thrown  it  with  great  force  at  the  vo- 
calist upon  the  stage,  striking  her  full  in  the  face, 
partly  as  a  rough  declaration  of  love,  partly 
through  disgust  for  the  painted  doll  that  was  too 
pink  for  his  taste.  The  blow  had  felled  the  woman 
to  the  boards,  and — she  worshipped  him  during 
the  three  following  weeks. 

"Why,  bless  ye,  lads,  when  I  left  she  made 
me  this  here  present  of  a  real  gold  watch." 

The  better  to  show  it  them  he  threw  it  upon 
the  table  like  a  worthless  toy. 

This  was  told  with  coarse  words  and  oratorical 
flourishes  of  his  own.  Yet  this  commonplace  of 
civilized  life  jarred  sadly  among  such  simple  men, 
with  the  grand  solemnity  of  the  ocean  around 
them  ;  in  the  glimmering  of  midnight,  falling 
from  above,  was  an  impression  of  the  fleeting 
summers  of  the  far  norlh  country. 

These  ways  of  Yann  greatly  pained  and  sur- 
prised Sylvestre.  He  was  a  girlish  boy,  brought 
up  in  respect  for  holy  things,  by  an  old  grand- 
mother, the  widow  of  a  fisherman  in  the  village 
of  Ploubazlanec.  As  a  tiny  child  he  used  to  go 
every  day  with  her  to  kneel  and  tell  his  beads 
over  his  mother's  grave.  From  the  churchyard 
on  the  cliff  the  grey  waters  of  the  Channel,  where* 

Q 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

in  his  father  had  disappeared  in  a  shipwreck,  could 
be  seen  in  the  far  distance. 

As  his  grandmother  and  himself  were  poor 
he  had  to  take  to  fishing  in  his  early  youth,  and 
his  childhood  had  been  spent  out  on  the  open 
water.  Every  night  he  said  his  prayers,  and  his 
eyes  still  wore  their  religious  purity.  He  was 
captivating  though,  and  next  to  Yann  the  finest- 
built  lad  of  the  crew.  His  voice  was  very  soft, 
and  its  boyish  tones  contrasted  markedly  with  his 
tall  height  and  black  beard ;  as  he  had  shot  up 
very  rapidly  he  was  almost  puzzled  to  find  him- 
self grown  suddenly  so  tall  and  big.  He  ex- 
pected to  marry  Yann*s  sister  soon,  but  never  yet 
had  answered  any  girFs  love  advances. 

There  were  only  three  sleeping  bunks  aboard, 
one  being  double-berthed,  so  they  "turned  in" 
alternately. 

When  they  had  finished  their  feast,  celebrat- 
ing the  Assumption  of  their  patron  saint,  it  was 
a  little  past  midnight.  Three  of  them  crept  away 
to  bed  in  the  small  dark  recesses  that  resembled 
coffin-shelves ;  and  the  three  others  went  up  on 
deck  to  get  on  with  their  often  interrupted,  heavy 
labour  of  fish-catching;  the  latter  were  Yann, 
Sylvestre,  and  one  of  their  fellow-villagers  known 
as  Guillaume. 

10 


The  Fishermen 

It  was  daylight,  the  everlasting  day  of  those 
regions — a  pale,  dim  light,  resembling  no  other — 
bathing  all  things,  like  the  gleams  of  a  setting 
sun.  Around  them  stretched  an  immense  colour- 
less waste,  and  excepting  the  planks  of  their  ship, 
all  seemed  transparent,  ethereal,  and  fairy-like. 
The  eye  could  not  distinguish  what  the  scene 
might  be  :  first  it  appeared  as  a  quivering  mirror 
that  had  no  objects  to  reflect ;  and  in  the  distance 
it  became  a  desert  of  vapour  ;  and  beyond  that  a 
void,  having  neither  horizon  nor  limits. 

The  damp  freshness  of  the  air  was  more  in- 
tensely penetrating  than  dry  frost ;  and  when 
breathing  it,  one  tasted  the  flavour  of  brine.  All 
was  calm,  and  the  rain  had  ceased  ;  overhead  the 
clouds,  without  form  or  colour,  seemed  to  con- 
ceal that  latent  light  that  could  not  be  explained ; 
the  eye  could  see  clearly,  yet  one  was  still  con- 
scious of  the  night ;  this  dimness  was  all  of  an 
indefinable  hue. 

The  three  men  on  deck  had  lived  since  their 
childhood  upon  the  frigid  seas,  in  the  very  midst 
of  their  mists,  which  are  vague  and  troubled  as 
the  background  of  dreams.  They  were  accus- 
tomed to  see  this  varying  infinitude  play  about 
their  paltry  ark  of  planks,  and  their  eyes  were  as 

used  to  it  as  those  of  the  great  free  ocean-birds. 

II 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

The  boat  rolled  gently  with  its  everlasting 
wail,  as  monotonous  as  a  Breton  song  moaned 
by  a  sleeper.  Yann  and  Sylvestre  had  got  their 
bait  and  lines  ready,  while  their  mate  opened  a 
barrel  of  salt,  and  whetting  his  long  knife  went 
and  sat  behind  them,  waiting. 

He  did  not  have  long  to  wait,  or  they  either. 
They  scarcely  had  thrown  their  lines  into  the 
calm,  cold  water  in  fact,  before  they  drew  in 
huge  heavy  fish,  of  a  steel-grey  sheen.  And 
time  after  time  the  codfish  let  themselves  be 
hooked  in  a  rapid  and  unceasing  silent  series. 
The  third  man  ripped  them  open  with  his  long 
knife,  spread  them  flat,  salted  and  counted  them, 
and  piled  up  the  lot — ^which  upon  their  return 
would  constitute  their  fortune — behind  them,  all 
still  redly  streaming  and  still  sweet  and  fresh. 

The  hours  passed  monotonously,  while  in  the 
immeasurably  empty  regions  beyond  the  light 
slowly  changed  till  it  grew  less  unreal.  What  at 
first  had  appeared  a  livid  gloaming,  like  a  north- 
ern summer's  eve,  became  now,  without  any  in- 
tervening "dark  hour  before  dawn,"  something 
like  a  smiling  morn,  reflected  by  all  the  facets  of 
the  oceans  in  fading,  roseate-edged  streaks. 

**You  really  ought  to  marry,  Yann,"  said 
Sylvestre,  suddenly  and  very  seriously  this  time, 

12 


The  Fishermen 

still  looking  into  the  water.  (He  seemed  to 
know  somebody  in  Brittany,  who  had  allowed 
herself  to  be  captivated  by  the  brown  eyes  of  his 
*'  big  brother,"  but  he  felt  shy  upon  so  solemn  a 
subject.) 

**  Me !  Lor*,  yes,  some  day  I  will  marry." 
He  smiled,  did  the  always  contemptuous  Yann, 
rolling  his  passionate  eyes.  **  But  I'll  have  none 
of  the  lasses  at  home ;  no,  I'll  wed  the  sea,  and 
I  invite  ye  all  in  the  barkey  now,  to  the  ball 
I'll  give  at  my  wedding." 

They  kept  on  hauling  in,  for  their  time  could 
not  be  lost  in  chatting;  they  had  an  immense 
quantity  of  fish  in  a  travelling  shoal,  which  had 
not  ceased  passing  for  the  last  two  days. 

They  had  been  up  all  night,  and  in  thirty 
hours  had  caught  more  than  a  thousand  prime 
cods ;  so  that  even  their  strong  arms  were  tired 
and  they  were  half  asleep.  But  their  bodies  re- 
mained active  and  they  continued  their  toil, 
though  occasionally  their  minds  floated  off  into 
regions  of  profound  sleep.  But  the  free  air 
they  breathed  was  as  pure  as  that  of  the  first 
young  days  of  the  world,  and  so  bracing,  that 
notwithstanding  their  weariness  they  felt  their 
chests   expand    and    their    cheeks    glow   as    at 

arising. 

13 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

Morning,  the  true  morning  light,  at  length 
came  ;  as  in  the  days  of  Genesis,  it  had  **  divided 
from  the  darkness,"  which  had  settled  upon  the 
horizon  and  rested  there  in  great  heavy  masses ; 
and  by  the  clearness  of  vision  now,  it  was  seen 
night  had  passed,  and  that  that  first  vague  strange 
glimmer  was  only  a  forerunner.  In  the  thickly- 
veiled  heavens,  broke  out  rents  here  and  there, 
like  side  skylights  in  a  dome,  through  which 
pierced  glorious  rays  of  light,  silver  and  rosy. 
The  lower-lying  clouds  were  grouped  round  in  a 
belt  of  intense  shadow,  encircling  the  waters  and 
screening  the  far-off  distance  in  darkness.  They 
hinted  as  of  a  space  in  a  boundary ;  they  were 
as  curtains  veiling  the  Infinite,  or  as  draperies 
drawn  to  hide  the  too  majestic  mysteries, 
which  would  have  perturbed  the  imagination  of 
mortals. 

On  this  special  morning,  around  the  small 
plank  platform  occupied  by  Yann  and  Sylvestre, 
the  shifting  outer  world  had  an  appearance  of 
deep  meditation,  as  though  this  were  an  altar 
recently  raised ;  and  the  sheaves  of  sun-rays, 
which  darted  like  arrows  under  the  sacred  arch, 
spread  in  a  long  glimmering  stream  over  the 
motionless  waves,  as  over  a  marble  floor.  Then, 
slowly  and  more  slowly  yet  loomed  still  another 

14 


The  Fishermen 

wonder ;  a  high,  majestic,  pink  profile — it  was  a 
promontory  of  gloomy  Iceland. 

Yann's  wedding  with  the  sea  ?  Sylvestre  was 
still  thinking  of  it — after  resuming  his  fishing 
without  daring  to  say  anything  more.  He  had 
felt  quite  sad  when  his  big  brother  had  so  turned 
the  holy  sacrament  of  marriage  into  ridicule; 
and  it  particularly  had  frightened  him,  as  he  was 
superstitious. 

For  so  long,  too,  he  had  mused  on  Yann's 
marriage  !  He  had  thought  that  it  might  take 
place  with  Gaud  M^vel,  a  blonde  lass  from 
Paimpol ;  and  that  he  would  have  the  happiness 
of  being  present  at  the  marriage-feast  before 
starting  for  the  navy,  that  long  five  years'  exile, 
with  its  dubious  return,  the  thought  of  whicH 
already  plucked  at  his  heart-strings.  # 

Four  o'clock  in  the  morning  now.  The 
watch  below  came  up,  all  three,  to  relieve  the 
others.  Still  rather  sleepy,  drinking  in  chestfuls 
of  the  fresh,  chill  air,  they  stepped  up,  drawing 
their  long  sea-boots  higher,  and  having  to  shut 
their  eyes,  dazzled  at  first  by  a  light  so  pale,  yet 
in  such  abundance. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  took  their  breakfast  of 
biscuits,  which  they  had  to  break  with  a  mallet, 
and  began  to  munch  noisily,  laughing  at  their 

15 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

being  so  very  hard.  They  had  become  quite 
merry  again  at  the  idea  of  going  down  to  sleep, 
snugly  and  warmly  in  their  berths ;  and  clasping 
each  other  round  the  waist  they  danced  up  to 
the  hatchway  to  an  old  song-tune. 

Before  disappearing  through  the  aperture 
they  stopped  to  play  with  Turc,  the  ship's  dog,  a 
young  Newfoundland  with  great  clumsy  paws. 
They  sparred  at  him,  and  he  pretended  to  bite 
them  like  a  young  wolf,  until  he  bit  too  hard 
and  hurt  them,  whereupon  Yann,  with  a  frown 
and  anger  in  his  quick-changing  eyes,  pushed 
him  aside  with  an  impatient  blow  that  sent  him 
flying  and  made  him  howl.  Yann  had  a  kind 
heart  enough,  but  his  nature  remained  rather  un- 
tamed, and  when  his  physical  being  was  touched, 
a  tender  caress  was  often  more  like  a  manifesta- 
tion of  brutal  violence. 


CHAPTER  II 

ICELANDERS 

Their  smack  was  named  La  Marie,  and  her 

master  was  Captain  Guermeur.     Every  year  she 

set  sail  for  the  big  dangerous  fisheries,  in  the 

frigid  regions  where  the  summers  have  no  night. 

i6 


Icelanders 

She  was  a  very  old  ship,  as  old  as  the  statuette 
of  her  patron  saint  itself.  Her  heavy,  oaken 
planks  were  rough  and  worn,  impregnated  with 
ooze  and  brine,  but  still  strong  and  stout,  and 
smelling  strongly  of  tar.  At  anchor  she  looked 
an  old  unwieldy  tub  from  her  so  massive  build, 
but  when  blew  the  mighty  western  gales,  her 
lightness  returned,  like  a  sea-gull  awakened  by 
the  wind.  Then  she  had  her  own  style  of  tum- 
bling over  the  rollers,  and  rebounding  more 
lightly  than  many  newer  ones,  launched  with  all 
your  new  fangles. 

As  for  the  crew  of  six  men  and  the  boy,  they 
were  *'  Icelanders,"  the  valiant  race  of  seafarers 
whose  homes  are  at  Paimpol  and  Tr^guier,  and 
who  from  father  to  son  are  destined  for  the  cod 
fisheries.,  ^ 

They  hardly  ever  had  seen  a  summer  in 
France.  At  the  end  of  each  winter  they,  with 
other  fishers,  received  the  parting  blessing  in  the 
harbour  of  Paimpol.  And  for  that  f6te-day  an 
altar,  always  the  same,  and  imitating  a  rocky 
grotto,  was  erected  on  the  quay ;  and  over  it,  in 
the  midst  of  anchors,  oars,  and  nets,  was  en- 
throned the  Virgin  Mary,  calm,  and  beaming  with 
affection,  the  patroness  of  sailors ;  she  would  be 
brought  from  her  chapel  for  the  occasion,  and 

17 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

had  looked  upon  generation  after  generation  with 
her  same  lifeless  eyes,  blessing  the  happy  for 
whom  the  season  would  be  lucky,  and  the  others 
who  never  more  would  return. 

The  Host,  followed  by  a  slow  procession  of 
wives,  mothers,  sweethearts,  and  sisters,  was  borne 
round  the  harbour,  where  the  boats  bound  for  Ice- 
land, bedecked,  m^l-eolours,  saluted  it  on  its  way. 
The  priest  halted  before  each,  giving  them  his 
holy  blessing ;  and  then  the  fleet  started,  leaving 
the  country  desolate  of  husbands,  lovers,  and  sons ; 
and  as  the  shores  faded  from  their  view,  the  crews 
sang  together  in  low,  full  voices,  the  hymns  sacred 
to  "  the  Star  of  the  Ocean."  And  every  year  saw 
the  same  ceremonies,  and  heard  the  same  good- 
byes. 

Then  began  the  life  out  upon  the  open  sea, 
in  the  solitude  of  three  or  four  rough  compan- 
ions, on  the  moving  thin  planks  in  the  midst  of 
the  seething  waters  of  the  northern  seas. 

Until  now  La  Maries  men  had  always  re- 
turned ;  the  "  Virgin  Star  of  the  Ocean  "  had  pro- 
tected the  ship  that  bore  her  name.  The  end  of 
August  was  the  date  for  these  homeward  comings ; 
but  La  Marie  followed  the  custom  of  many  Ice- 
landers, which  is  merely  to  touch  at  Paimpol,  and 
then  to  sail  down  to  the  Gulf  of  Gascony,  where 

i8 


The  Women  at  Home 

fish  fetches  high  prices,  or  farther  on  to  the  Sandy 
Isles,  with  their  salty  swamps,  where  they  buy 
the  salt  for  the  next  expedition.  The  crews  of 
lusty  fellows  stay  a  few  days  in  the  southern,  sun- 
kissed  harbour-towns,  intoxicated  by  the  last  rays 
of  summer,  by  the  sweetness  of  the  balmy  air, 
and  by  the  downright  jollity  of  youth.     ^ 

With  the  mists  of  autumn  they  return  home 
to  Paimpol,  or  to  the  scattered  huts  of  the  land 
of  Goelo,  to  remain  some  time  in  their  families, 
in  the  midst  of  love,  marriages,  and  births.  Very 
often  they  find  unseen  babies  upon  their  return, 
waiting  for  godfathers  ere  they  can  be  baptized, 
for  many  children  are  needed  to  keep  up  this  race 
of  fishermen,  which  the  Icelandic  Moloch  devours^ 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   WOMEN    AT    HOME 

At  Paimpol,  one  fine  evening  of  this  same 
year,  upon  a  Sunday  in  June,  two  women  were 
deeply  busy  in  writing  a  letter.  This  took  place 
before  a  large  open  window,  with  a  row  of  flower 
pots  on  its  heavy  old  granite  sill. 

As  well  as  could  be  seen  from  their  bending 
over  the  table,  both, were  young.     One  wore  a 

19 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

very  large  old-fashioned  cap ;  the  other  quite  a 
small  one,  in  the  new  style  adopted  by  the  wom- 
en of  Paimpol.  They  might  have  been  taken 
for  two  loving  lasses  writing  a  tender  missive  to 
some  handsome  Icelander. 

The  one  who  dictated — the  one  with  the  large 
head-dress — drew  up  her  head,  wool-gathering. 
Oh,  she  was  old,  very  old,  too,  notwithstanding 
her  look  from  behind,  in  her  small  brown  shawl 
— we  mean  downright  old.  A  sweet  old  granny, 
seventy  at  least.  Very  pretty,  though,  and  still 
fresh-coloured,  with  the  rosy  cheeks  some  old  peo- 
pie  have.  Her  coiffe  was  drawn  low  upon  the 
forehead  and  upon  the  top  of  the  head,  was  com- 
posed of  two  or  three  large  rolls  of  muslin  that 
seemed  to  telescope  out  of  one  another,  and  fell 
on  to  the  nape.  Her  venerable  face,  framed  in 
the  pure  white  pleats,  had  almost  a  nun's  look, 
while  her  soft,  tender  eyes  wore  a  kindly  ex- 
pression.  She  had  not  the  vestige  of  a  tooth 
left,  and  when  she  laughed  she  showed  her 
round  gums,  which  had  still  the  freshness  of 
youth. 

Although  her  chin  had  become  as  pointed  "  as 

the  toe  of  a  sabot "  (as  she  was  in  the  habit  of 

saying),  her  profile  was  not  spoiled  by  time  ;  and 

it  was  easily  imagined  that  in  her  youth  it  h^d 

20 


The  Women  at  Home 

been  regular  and  pure,  like  the  saints*  adorning  a 
church. 

She  looked  through  the  window,  trying  to 
think  of  news  that  might  amuse  her  grandson  at 
sea.  There  existed  not  in  the  whole  country  of 
Paimpol  another  dear  old  body  like  her,  to  invent 
such  funny  stories  upon  everybody,  and  even  upon 
nothing.  Already  in  this  letter  there  were  three 
or  four  merry  tales,  but  without  the  slightest 
mischief,  for  she  had  nothing  ill-natured  about 
her. 

The  other  woman,  finding  that  ideas  were 
getting  scarce,  began  to  write  the  address  care- 
fully: 

*«  To  Monsieur  Moan,  Sylvestre, 
Aboard  the  Marie^ 

(Jo  Captain  Guermeur, 

In  the  Sea  of  Iceland,  near  Rykawyk.** 

Here  sh6  lifted  her  head  to  ask  :  "  Is  that  all. 
Granny  Moan?" 

The  querist  was  young,  adorably  young,  a  girl 
of  twenty  in  fact ;  very  fair — a  rare  complexion 
in  this  corner  of  Brittany,  where  the  race  runs 
swarthy — very  fair,  we  say,  with  great  grey  eyes 
between  almost  black  lashes ;  her  brows,  as  fair 
fs  the  hair,  seemed  as  if  they  had  a  darker  streak 

21 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

in  their  midst,  which  gave  a  wonderful  expression 
of  strength  and  will  to  the  beautiful  face.  The 
rather  short  profile  was  very  dignified,  the  nose 
continuing  the  line  of  the  brow  with  absolute 
rectitude,  as  in  a  Greek  statue.  A  deep  dimple 
under  the  lower  lip  foiled  it  up  delightfully  ;  and 
from  time  to  time,  when  she  was  absorbed  by  a 
particular  idea,  she  bit  this  lower  lip  with  her 
white  upper  teeth,  making  the  blood  run  in  tiny 
red  veins  under  the  delicate  skin.  In  her  supple 
form  there  was  no  little  pride,  with  gravity  also, 
which  she  inherited  from  the  bold  Icelandic  sail- 
ors, her  ancestors.  The  expression  of  her  eyes 
was  both  steady  and  gentle. 

Her.  cap  was  in  the  shape  of  a  cockle-shell, 
worn  low  on  the  brow,  and  drawn  back  on  either 
side,  showing  thick  tresses  of  hair  about  the  ears, 
a  head-dress  that  has  remained  from  remote  times 
and  gives  quite  an  olden  look  to  the  women  of 
P^mpol. 

One  felt  instinctively  that  she  had  been 
reared  differently  than  the  poor  old  woman  to 
whom  she  gave  the  name  of  grandmother,  but 
who  in  reality  was  but  a  distant  great-aunt. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  M.  M^vel,  a  former 
Icelander,  a  bit  of  a  freebooter,  who  had  made 
a  fortune  by  bold  undertakings  out  at  sea* 

22 


The  Women  at  Home 

The  fine  room  where  the  letter  had  been  jusi 
written  was  hers ;  a  new  bed,  such  as  townspeo- 
ple have,  with  muslin  lace-edged  curtains,  and 
on  the  stone  walls  a  light-coloured  paper,  ton- 
ing down  the  irregularities  of  the  granite ;  over- 
head a  coating  of  whitewash  covered  the  great 
beams  that  revealed  the  antiquity  of  the  abode ; 
it  was  the  home  of  well-to-do  folk,  and  the 
windows  looked  out  upon  the  old  gray  mar- 
,ket-place  of  Paimpol,  where  the  pardons  are 
held.  / 

"  Is  it  done,  Granny  Yvonne?  Have  you 
nothing  else  to  tell  him  ?  " 

'*  No,  my  lass,  only  I  would  like  you  to  add 
a  word  of  greeting  to  young  Gaos." 

"Young  Gaos"  was  otherwise  called  Yann. 
The  proud  beautiful  girl  had  blushed  very  red 
when  she  wrote  those  words.  And  as  soon  as 
they,  were  added  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  in  a 
running  hand,  she  rose  and  turned  her  head  aside 
as  if  to  look  at  some  very  interesting  object  out 
on  the  market-place. 

Standing,  she  was  rather  tall ;  her  waist  lyas 
modelled  in  a  clinging  bodice,  as  perfectly  fitting 
as  that  of  a  fashionable  dame.  In  spite  of  her 
cap,  she  looked  like  a  real  lady.  Even  her 
hands,  without  being  conventionally  small,  were 

VOL.  20  23  Romances  3 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

white  and  delicate,  never  having  touched  rough 
work. 

True,  she  had  been  at  first  little  Gaud 
(Daisy),  paddling  bare-footed  in  the  water,  moth- 
erless, almost  wholly  neglected  during  the  season 
of  the  fisheries,  which  her  father  spent  in  Ice- 
land ;  a  pretty,  untidy,  obstinate  girl,  but  grow- 
ing vigorous  and  strong  in  the  bracing  sea-breeze. 
In  those  days  she  had  been  sheltered,  during  the 
fine  summers,  by  poor  Granny  Moan,  who  used 
to  give  her  Sylvestre  to  mind  during  her  days  of 
hard  work  in  Paimpol.  Gaud  felt  the  adoration 
of  a  young  mother  for  the  child  confided  to  her 
tender  care.  She  was  his  elder  by  about  eight- 
een months.  He  was  as  dark  as  she  was  fair,  as 
obedient  and  caressing  as  she  was  hasty  and  ca- 
pricious. She  well  remembered  that  part  of  her 
life  ;  neither  wealth  nor  town  life  had  altered  it ; 
and  like  a  far-off  dream  of  wild  freedom  it  came 
back  to  her,  or  as  the  remembrance  of  an  unde- 
fined and  mysterious  previous  existence,  where 
the  sandy  shores  seemed  longer,  and  the  cliffs 
higher  and  nobler. 

Towards  the  age  of  five  or  six,  which  seemed 

long  ago  to  her,  wealth  had  befallen  her  father, 

who  began  to  buy  and  sell  the  cargoes  of  ships. 

She  had  been  taken  to    Saint-Brieuc,  and  later 

24 


The  Women  at  Home 

to  Paris.  And  from  la  petite  Gaud  she  had 
become  Mademoiselle  Marguerite,  tall  and  se- 
rious, with  earnest  eyes.  Always  left  to  herself, 
in  another  kind  of  solitude  than  that  of  the 
Breton  coast,  she  still  retained  the  obstinate  na- 
ture of  her  childhood. 

Living  in  large  towns,  her  dress  had  become 
more  modified  than  herself.  Although  she  still 
wore  the  coiffe  that  Breton  women  discard  so  sel- 
dom, she  had  learned  to  dress  herself  in  another 
way. 

Every  year  she  had  returned  to  Brittany  with 
her  father — in  the  summer  only,  like  a  fashion- 
able, coming  to  bathe  in  the  sea — and  lived  again 
in  the  midst  of  old  memories,  delighted  to  hear 
herself  called  Gaud,  rather  curious  to  see  these 
Icelanders  of  whom  so  much  was  said,  who  were 
never  at  home,  and  of  whom,  each  year,  some 
were  missing ;  on  all  sides  she  heard  the  name  of 
Iceland,  which  appeared  to  her  as  a  distant  in- 
satiable abyss.  And  there,  now,  was  the  man 
she  loved ! 

One  fine  day  she  had  returned  to  live  in  the 
midst  of  these  fishers,  through  a  whim  of  her  fa- 
ther, who  had  wished  to  end  his  days  there,  and 
live  like  a  landsman  in  the  market-place  of 
Paimpol. 

35 


i 


On  the  Icy  Sea 


The  good  old  dame,  poor  but  tidy,  left  Gaud 
with  cordial  thanks  as  soon  as  the  letter  had  been 
read  again  and  the  envelope  closed.  She  lived 
rather  far  away,  at  the  other  end  of  Ploubazlanec, 
in  a  hamlet  on  the  coast,  in  the  same  cottage 
where  she  first  had  seen  the  light  of  day,  and 
where  her  sons  and  grandsons  had  been  born. 
In  the  town,  as  she  passed  along,  she  answered 
many  friendly  nods ;  she  was  one  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants  of  the  country,  the  last  of  a  worthy 
and  highly  esteemed  family. 

With  great  care  and  good  management  she 
managed  to  appear  pretty  well  dressed,  although 
her  gowns  were  much  darned,  and  hardly  held 
together.  She  always  wore  the  tiny  brown 
Paimpol  shawl,  which  was  for  best,  and  upon 
which  the  long  muslin  rolls  of  her  white  caps  had 
fallen  for  past  sixty  years ;  her  own  marriage 
shawl,  formerly  blue,  had  been  dyed  for  the 
wedding  of  her  son  Pierre,  and  since  then  worn 
only  on  Sundays,  looked  quite  nice. 

She  still  carried  herself  very  straight,  not  at  all 

like  an  old  woman ;  and,  in  spite  of  her  pointed 

chin,  her  soft  eyes  and  delicate  profile  made  all 

think  her  still  very  charming.     She  was  held  in 

great  respect — one  could  see  that  if  only  by  the 

nods  that  people  gave  her. 

26 


The  Women  at  Home 

On  her  way  she  passed  before  the  house  of 
her  gallant,  the  sweetheart  of  former  days,  a  car- 
penter by  trade;  now  an  octogenarian,  who  sat 
outside  his  door  all  the  livelong  day,  while  the 
young  ones,  his  sons,  worked  in  the  shop.  It 
was  said  that  he  never  had  consoled  himself  for 
her  loss,  for  neither  in  first  or  second  marriage 
would  she  have  him  ;  but  with  old  age  his  feeling 
for  her  had  become  a  sort  of  comical  spite,  half 
friendly  and  half  mischievous,  and  he  always 
called  out  to  her  : 

"  Aha,  la  belle,  when  must  I  call  to  take  your 
measure  ? " 

But  she  declined  with  thanks;  she  had  not 
yet  quite  decided  to  have  that  dress  made.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  old  man,  with  rather  question- 
able taste,  spoke  of  the  suit  in  deal  planks,  which 
is  the  last  of  all  our  terrestrial  garments. 

**  Well,  whenever  you  like  ;  but  don't  be  shy 
in  asking  for  it,  you  know,  old  lady." 

He  had  made  this  joke  several  times;  but, 
to-day,  she  could  scarcely  take  it  good-naturedly. 
She  felt  more  tired  than  ever  of  her  hard-work- 
ing life,  and  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  her  dear 
grandson — the  last  of  them  all,  who,  upon  his 
return  from  Iceland,  was  to  enter  the  navy  for 

five  years !     Perhaps   he   might  have  to   go  to 

2; 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

China,  to  the  war !  Would  she  still  be  about, 
upon  his  return  ?  The  thought  alone  was  agony 
to  her.  No,  she  was  surely  not  so  happy  as  she 
looked,  poor  old  granny  ! 

And  was  it  really  possible  and  true,  that  her 
last  darling  was  to  be  torn  from  her  ?  She,  per- 
haps, might  die  alone,  without  seeing  him  again ! 
Certainly,  some  gentlemen  of  the  town,  whom 
she  knew,  had  done  all  they  could  to  keep  him 
from  having  to  start,  urging  that  he  was  the  sole 
support  of  an  old  and  almost  destitute  grand- 
mother, who  could  no  longer  work.  But  they 
had  not  succeeded — because  of  Jean  Moan,  the 
deserter,  an  elder  brother  of  Sylvestre's,  whom 
no  one  in  the  family  ever  mentioned  now,  but 
who  still  lived  somewhere  over  in  America,  thus 
depriving  his  younger  brother  of  the  military  ex- 
emption. Moreover,  it  had  been  objected  that 
she  had  her  small  pension,  allowed  to  the  widows 
of  sailors,  and  the  Admiralty  could  not  deem  her 
poor  enough. 

When  she  returned  home,  she  said  her  pray- 
ers at  length  for  all  her  dead  ones,  sons  and 
grandsons ;  then  she  prayed  again  with  re- 
newed strength  and  confidence  for  her  Sylves- 
tre,  and  tried  to   sleep — thinking  of   the  *'suit 

of  wood,"  her  heart  sadly  aching  at  the  thought 

28 


The  Women  at  Home 

of  being  so  old,  when  this  new  parting  was  im- 
minent. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  victim  of  separation,  the 
girl,  had  remained  seated  at  her  window,  gazing 
upon  the  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  reflected 
on  the  granite  walls,  and  the  black  swallows 
wheeling  across  the  sky  above.  Paimpol  was 
always  quiet  on  these  long  May  evenings,  even 
on  Sundays ;  the  lasses,  who  had  not  a  single  lad 
to  make  love  to  them,  sauntered  along,  in  couples 
or  three  together,  brooding  of  their  lovers  in 
Iceland. 

"  A  word  of  greeting  to  young  Gaos  ! "  She 
had  been  greatly  affected  in  writing  that  sentence, 
and  that  name,  which  now  she  could  not  forget. 
She  often  spent  her  evenings  here  at  the  window, 
like  a  grand  lady.  Her  father  did  not  approve 
of  her  walking  with  the  other  girls  of  her  age, 
who  had  been  her  early  playmates.  And  as  he 
left  thejcafe,  and  walked  up  and  down,  smoking 
his  pipe  with  old  seamen  like  himself,  he  was 
happy  to  look  up  at  his  daughter  among  her 
flowers,  in  his  grand  house. 

"  Young  Gaos  ! "    Against  her  will  she  gazed 

seaward ;  it  could  not  be  seen,  but  she  felt  it  was 

nigh,  at  the  end  of  the  tiny  street  crowded  with 

fishermen.     And  her  thoughts  travelled  through 

29 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

a  fascinating  and  delightful  infinite,  far,  far  away 
to  the  northern  seas,  where  "  La  Marie,  Captain 
Guermeur,"  was  sailing.  A  strange  man  was  young 
Gaos  !  retiring  and  almost  incomprehensible  now, 
after  having  come  forward  so  audaciously,  yet  so 
lovingly. 

In  her  long  reverie,  she  remembered  her  return 
to  Brittany,  which  had  taken  place  the  year  be- 
fore. One  December  morning,  after  a  night  of 
travelling,  the  train  from  Paris  had  deposited  her 
father  and  herself  at  Guingamp.  It  was  a  damp, 
foggy  morning,  cold  and  almost  dark.  She  had 
been  seized  with  a  previously  unknown  feeling ; 
she  could  scarcely  recognise  the  quaint  little 
town,  which  she  had  only  seen  during  the  sum- 
mer—oh, that  glad  old  time,  the  dear  old  times  of 
the  past !  This  silence,  after  Paris  !  This  quiet 
life  of  people,  who  seemed  of  another  world, 
going  about  their  simple  business  in  the  misty 
morning.  But  the  sombre  granite  houses,  with 
their  dark,  damp  walls,  and  the  Breton  charm 
upon  all  things,  which  fascinated  her  now  that 
she  loved  Yann,  had  seemed  particularly  sadden- 
ing upon  that  morning.  Early  housewives  were 
already  opening  their  doors,  and  as  she  passed  she 
could  glance  into  the  old-fashioned  houses,  with 
their  tall  chimney-pieces,  where  sat  the  old  granJ- 

30 


The  Women  at  Home 

mothers,  in  their  white  caps,  quiet  and  dignified. 
As  soon  as  daylight  had  begun  to  appear,  she  had 
entered  the  church  to  say  her  prayers,  and  the 
grand  old  aisle  had  appeared  immense  and  shad- 
owy to  her — quite  different  from  all  the  Parisian 
churches — with  its  rough  pillars  worn  at  the  base 
by  the  chafing  of  centuries,  and  its  damp,  earthy 
smell  of  age  and  saltpetre. 

In  a  damp  recess,  behind  the  columns,  a  taper 
was  burning,  before  which  knelt  a  woman,  mak- 
ing a  vow;  the  dim  flame  seemed  lost  in  the 
vagueness  of  the  arches.  Gaud  experienced  there 
the  feeling  of  a  long-forgotten  impression  :  that 
kind  of  sadness  and  fear  that  she  had  felt  when 
quite  young  at  being  taken  to  mass  at  Paimpol 
Church  on  raw,  wintry  mornings. 

But  she  hardly  regretted  Paris,  although 
there  were  many  splendid  and  amusing  sights 
there.  In  the  first  place  she  felt  almost  cramped 
from  having  the  blood  of  the  vikings  in  her 
veins.  And  then,  in  Paris,  she  felt  like  a  stran- 
ger and  an  intruder.  The  Parisiennes  were 
tight-laced,  artificial  women,  who  had  a  peculiar 
way  of  walking ;  and  Gaud  was  too  intelligent 
even  to  have  attempted  to  imitate  them.  In  her 
head-dress,  ordered  every  year  from  the  maker  in 
Paimpol,  she  felt  out  of  her  element  in  the  capi- 

31 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

tal  J  and  did  not  understand  that  if  the  wayfarers 
turned  round  to  look  at  her,  it  was  only  because 
she  made  a  very  charming  picture. 

Some  of  these  Parisian  ladies  quite  won  her 
by  their  high-bred  and  distinguished  manners, 
but  she  knew  them  to  be  inaccessible  to  her, 
while  from  others  of  a  lower  caste  who  would 
have  been  glad  to  make  friends  with  her,  she 
kept  proudly  aloof,  judging  them  unworthy  of 
her  attention.  Thus  had  she  lived  almost  with- 
out friends,  without  other  society  than  her  fa- 
ther's, who  was  engaged  in  business  and  often 
away.  So  she  did  not  regret  that  life  of  es- 
trangement and  solitude. 

But,  none  the  less,  on  that  day  of  arrival  she 
had  been  painfully  surprised  by  the  bitterness  of 
this  Brittany,  seen  in  full  winter.  And  her 
heart  sickened  at  the  thought  of  having  to  travel 
another  live  or  six  hours  in  a  jolting  car — to 
penetrate  still  farther  into  the  blank,  desolate 
country  to  reach  Paimpol. 

All  through  the  afternoon  of  that  same  grisly 
day,  her  father  and  herself  had  journeyed  in  a 
little  old  ramshackle  vehicle,  open  to  all  the 
winds ;  passing,  with  the  falling  night,  through 
dull  villages,  under  the  ghostly  trees,  black- 
pearled  with  mist  in  drops.     And  ere  long  Ian- 

32 


The  Women  at  Home 

terns  had  to  be  lit,  and  she  could  perceive  noth- 
ing else  but  what  seemed  two  trails  of  green 
Bengal  lights,  running  on  each  side  before  the 
horses,  and  which  were  merely  the  beams  that 
the  two  lanterns  projected  on  the  never-ending 
hedges  of  the  roadway.  But  how  was  it  that 
trees  were  so  green  in  the  month  of  December  ? 
Astonished  at  first,  she  bent  to  look  out,  and 
then  she  remembered  how  the  gorse,  the  ever- 
green gorse  of  the  paths  and  the  cliffs,  never 
fades  in  the  country  of  Paimpol.  At  the  *  same 
time  a  warmer  breeze  began  to  blow,  which  she 
knew  again  and  which  smelt  of  the  sea. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  journey  she  had  been 
quite  awakened  and  amused  by  the  new  notion 
that  struck  her,  namely :  "  As  this  is  winter,  I 
shall  see  the  famous  fishermen  of  Iceland." 

For  in  December  they  were  to  return,  the 
brothers,  cousins,  and  lovers  of  whom  all  her 
friends,  great  and  small,  had  spoken  to  her  dur- 
ing the  long  summer  evening  walks  in  her  holi- 
day trips.  And  the  thought  had  haunted  her, 
though  she  felt  chilled  in  the  slow-going  vehicle. 

Now  she  had  seen  them,  and  her  heart  had 
been  captured  by  one  of  them  too. 


33 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

CHAPTER  IV 

FIRST   LOVB 

The  first  day  she  had  seen  him,  this  Yann, 
was  the  day  after  his  arrival,  at  the  "  Pardon  des 
Islandazs"  which  is  on  the  eighth  of  December, 
the  f^te-day  of  Our  Lady  of  Bonne-Nouvelle, 
the  patroness  of  fishers — ^a  little  before  the  pro- 
cession, with  the  gray  streets,  still  draped  in 
white  sheets,  on  which  were  strewn  ivy  and 
holly  and  wintry  blossoms  with  their  leaves. 

At  this  Pardon  the  rejoicing  was  heavy  and 
wild  under  the  sad  sky.  Joy  without  merri- 
ment, composed  chiefly  of  insouciance  and  con- 
tempt ;  of  physical  strength  and  alcohol ;  above 
which  floated,  less  disguised  than  elsewhere,  the 
universal  warning  of  death. 

A  great  clamour  in  Paimpol ;  sounds  of  bells 
mingled  with  the  chants  of  the  priests.  Rough 
and  monotonous  songs  in  the  taverns— old  sailor 
lullabies — songs  of  woe,  arisen  from  the  sea, 
drawn  from  the  deep  night  of  bygone  ages. 
Groups  of  sailors,  arm-in-arm,  zigzagging  through 
the  streets,  from  their  habit  of  rolling,  and  be- 
cause they  were  half^drunk.  Groups  of  girls  in 
their  nun-like  white  caps.     Old  granite  houses. 

-  S4 


First  Love 

sheltering  these  seething  crowds  ;  antiquated 
roofs  telling  of  their  struggles,  through  many 
centuries,  against  the  western  winds,  the  mist, 
and  the  rain ;  and  relating,  too,  many  stories  of 
love  and  adventiue  that  had  passed  under  their 
protection. 

And  floating  over  all  was  a  deep  religious 
sentiment,  a  feeling  of  bygone  days,  with  respect 
for  ancient  veneration  and  the  symbols  that  pro- 
tect it,  and  for  the  white,  immaculate  Virgin. 
Side  by  side  with  the  taverns  rose  the  church, 
its  deep  sombre  portals  thrown  open,  and  steps 
strewn  with  flowers,  with  its  perfume  of  incense, 
its  lighted  tapers,  and  the  votive  offerings  of 
sailors  hung  all  over  the  sacred  arch.  And  side 
by  side  also  with  the  happy  girls  were  the  sweet- 
hearts of  dead  sailors,  and  the  widows  of  the 
shipwrecked  fishers,  quitting  the  chapel  of  the 
dead  in  their  long  mourning  shawls  and  their 
smooth  tiny  coiffes ;  with  eyes  downward  bent, 
noiselessly  they  passed  through  the  midst  of  this 
clamouring  life,  like  a  sombre  warning.  And 
close  to  all  was  the  everlasting  sea,  the  huge 
nurse  and  devourer  of  these  vigorous  genera- 
tions, becoming  fierce  and  agitated  as  if  to  take 
part  in  the  f6te. 

Gaud  had  but  a  confused  impression  of  all 
35 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

these  things  together.  Excited  and  merry,  yet 
with  her  heart  aching,  she  felt  a  sort  of  anguish 
seize  her  at  the  idea  that  this  country  had  now 
become  her  own  again.  On  the  market-place, 
where  there  were  games  and  acrobats,  she  walked 
up  and  down  with  her  friends,  who  named  and 
pointed  out  to  her  from  time  to  time  the  young 
men  of  Paimpol  or  Ploubazlanec.  A  group  of 
these  "  Icelanders"  were  standing  before  the  sing- 
ers  of  ''  complaintes'*  *  with  their  backs  turned  to- 
wards them.  And  directly  Gaud  was  struck  with 
one  of  them,  tall  as  a  giant,  with  huge  shoulders 
almost  too  broad;  but  she  had  simply  said, 
perhaps  with  a  touch  of  mockery :  "  There  is  one 
who  is  tall,  to  say  the  least ! "  And  the  sen- 
tence implied  beneath  this  was :  "  What  an  in- 
cumbrance he*ll  be  to  the  woman  he  marries,  a 
husband  of  that  size  I " 

He  had  turned  round  as  if  he  had  heard  her, 
and  had  given  her  a  quick  glance  from  top  to 
toe,  seeming  to  say :  "  Who  is  this  girl  who 
wears  the  coiffe  of  Paimpol,  who  is  so  elegant, 
and  whom  I  never  have  seen  before  ?  " 

And  he  quickly  bent  his  eyes  to  the  ground 
for  politeness*  sake,  and  had  appeared  to  take  a 

*  Complainte — a  song  of  woe, 

36 


First  Love 

renewed  interest  in  the  singers,  only  showing  the 
back  of  his  head  and  his  black  hair  that  fell  in 
rather  long  curls  upon  his  neck.  And  although 
she  had  asked  the  names  of  several  others,  she 
had  not  dared  ask  his.  The  fine  profile,  the 
grand  half-savage  look,  the  brown,  almost  tawny 
pupils  moving  rapidly  on  the  bluish  opal  of  the 
eyes;  all  this  had  impressed  her  and  made  her 
timid. 

And  it  just  happened  to  be  that  "  Fils  Gaos," 
of  whom  she  had  heard  the  Moans  speak  as  a 
great  friend  of  Sylvestre's.  On  the  evening  of 
this  same  Pardon,  Sylvestre  and  he,  walking 
arm-in-arm,  had  crossed  her  father  and  herself, 
and  had  stopped  to  wish  them  good-day. 

And  young  Sylvestre  had  become  again  to 
her  as  a  sort  of  brother.  As  they  were  cousins 
they  had  continued  to  tutoyer  *  each  other ;  true, 
she  had  at  first  hesitated  doing  so  to  this  great 
boy  of  seventeen,  who  already  wore  a  black 
beard,  but  as  his  kind,  soft,  childish  eyes  had 
hardly  changed  at  all,  she  recognized  him  soon 
enough  to  imagine  that  she  never  had  lost  sight 
of  him. 

When  he  used  to  come  into   Paimpol,  she 

*  Tutoyer — using  thou  for  you.     A  sign  of  familiarity. 

37 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

kept  him  to  dinner  of  an  evening ;  it  was  without 
consequence  to  her,  and  he  always  had  a  very 
good  appetite,  being  on  rather  short  rations  at 
home. 

To  speak  truly,  Yann  had  not  been  very  po- 
lite to  her  at  this  first  meeting,  which  took  place 
at  the  corner  of  a  tiny  gray  street,  strewn  with 
green  branches.  He  had  raised  his  hat  to  her, 
with  a  noble  though  timid  gesture ;  and  after 
having  given  her  an  ever-rapid  glance,  turned  his 
eyes  away,  as  if  he  were  vexed  with  this  meeting 
and  in  a  hurry  to  go.  A  strong  western  breeze 
that  had  arisen  during  the  procession,  had  scat- 
tered branches  of  box  everywhere  and  loaded  the 
sky  with  dark  gray  draperies. 

Gaud,  in  her  dreamland  of  remembrances, 
saw  all  this  clearly  again  ;  the  sad  gloaming  fall- 
ing upon  the  remains  of  the  Pardon ;  the 
sheets  strewn  with  white  flowers  floating  in  the 
wind  along  the  walls ;  the  noisy  groups  of  Ice- 
landers, other  waifs  of  the  gales  and  tempests 
flocking  into  the  taverns,  singing  to  cheer  them- 
selves under  the  gloom  of  the  coming  rain  ;  and 
above  all.  Gaud  remembered  the  giant  standing 
in  front  of  her,  turning  aside  as  if  annoyed,  and 
troubled  at  having  met  her. 

What  a  wonderful  change  had  come  over  her 
3^ 


The  Second  Meeting 

since  then ;  and  what  a  difference  there  was  be- 
tween that  hubbub  and  the  present  tranquility ! 
How  quiet  and  empty  Paimpol  seemed  to-night 
in  the  warm  long  twilight  of  May,  which  kept 
her  still  at  her  window  alone,  lulled  in  her  love*s 
young  dream ! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SECOND    MEETING 

Their  second  meeting  was  at  a  wedding-feast 
Young  Gaos  had  been  chosen  to  offer  her  his 
arm.  At  first  she  had  been  rather  vexed,  not 
liking  the  idea  of  strolling  through  the  streets 
with  this  tall  fellow,  whom  everybody  would 
stare  at,  on  account  of  his  excessive  height,  and 
who,  most  probably,  would  not  know  what  to 
speak  to  her  about.  Besides,  he  really  fright- 
ened her  with  his  wild,  lofty  look. 

At  the  appointed  hour  all  were  assembled  for 
the  wedding  procession  save  Yann,  who  .had  not 
appeared.  Time  passed,  yet  he  did  not  come, 
and  they  talked  of  giving  up  any  further  waiting 
for  him.  Then  it  was  she  discovered  that  it  was 
for  his  pleasure,  and  his  alone,  that  she  had 
donned  her  best  dress  ;  with  any  other  of  the 

39 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

young  men  present  at  the  ball,  the  evening*s  en- 
joyment would  be  spoiled. 

At  last  he  arrived,  in  his  best  clothes  also, 
apologizing,  without  any  embarrassment,  to  the 
bride's  party.  The  excuse  was,  that  some  im- 
portant shoals  of  fish,  not  at  all  expected,  had 
been  telegraphed  from  England,  as  bound  to 
pass  that  night  a  little  off  Aurigny ;  and  so  all 
the  boats  of  Ploubazlanec  hastily  had  set  sail. 
There  was  great  excitement  in  the  villages, 
women  rushing  about  to  find  their  husbands  and 
urging  them  to  put  off  quickly,  and  struggling 
hard  themselves  to  hoist  the  sails  and  help  in  the 
launching;  in  fact,  a  regular  "turnout"  through- 
out the  places,  though  in  the  midst  of  the  com- 
pany Yann  related  this  very  simply  ;  he  had  been 
obliged  to  look  out  for  a  substitute  and  warrant 
him  to  the  owner  of  the  boat  to  which  he  be- 
longed for  the  winter  season.  It  was  this  that 
had  caused  him  to  be  late,  and  in  order  not  to 
miss  the  wedding,  he  had  "turned  up"  (aban- 
doned) his  share  in  the  profits  of  the  catch.  His 
plea  was  perfectly  well  understood  by  his  hearers, 
no  one  thinking  of  blaming  him  ;  for  well  all 
know  that,  in  this  coast  life,  all  are  more  or  less 
dependent  upon   the  unforeseen  events  at  sea, 

and  the  mysterious  migrations  of  the  fishy  le- 

40 


The  Second  Meeting 

gions.  The  other  Icelanders  present  were  disap- 
pointed at  not  having  been  warned  in  time,  like 
the  fishers  of  Ploubazlanec,  of  the  fortune  that 
was  skirting  their  very  shores. 

But  it  was  too  late  now,  worse  luck!  So 
they  gave  their  arms  to  the  lasses,  the  violins 
began  to  play,  and  joyously  they  all  tramped  out. 

At  first  Yann  had  only  paid  her  a  few  inno- 
cent compliments,  such  as  fall  to  a  chance  partner 
met  at  a  wedding,  and  of  whom  one  knows  but 
little.  Amidst  all  the  couples  in  the  procession, 
they  formed  the  only  one  of  strangers,  the  others 
were  all  relatives  or  sweethearts. 

But  during  the  evening  while  the  dancing 
was  going  on,  the  talk  between  them  had  again 
turned  to  the  subject  of  the  fish,  and  looking  her 
straight  in  the  eyes,  he  roughly  said  to  her : 

**You  are  the  only  person  about  Paimpol, 
and  even  in  the  world,  for  whom  I  would  have 
missed  such  a  windfall ;  truly,  for  nobody  else 
would  I  have  come  back  from  my  fishing,  Mad- 
emoiselle Gaud." 

At  first  she  was  rather  astonished  that  this 
fisherman  should  dare  so  to  address  her  who  had 
come  to  this  ball  rather  like  a  young  queen,  but 
then  delighted,  she  had  ended  by  answering : 

"Thank  you.  Monsieur  Yann;  and   I,  too, 

41 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

would  rather  be  with  you  than  with  anybody 
else." 

That  was  all.  But  from  that  moment  until 
the  end  of  the  dancing,  they  kept  on  chatting  in 
a  different  tone  than  before,  low  and  soft-voiced. 

The  dancing  was  to  the  sound  of  a  hurdy- 
gurdy  and  violin,  the  same  couples  almost  always 
together.  When  Yann  returned  to  invite  her 
again,  after  having  danced  with  another  girl  for 
politeness'  sake,  they  exchanged  a  smile,  like 
friends  meeting  anew,  and  continued  their  inter- 
rupted conversation,  which  had  become  very 
close.  Simply  enough,  Yann  spoke  of  his  fisher 
life,  its  hardships,  its  wage,  and  of  his  parents* 
difficulties  in  former  years,  when  they  had  four- 
teen little  Gaoses  to  bring  up,  he  being  the  eldest. 
Now,  the  old  folks  were  out  of  the  reach  of  need, 
because  of  a  wreck  that  their  father  had  found  in 
the  Channel,  the  sale  of  which  had  brought  in 
10,000  francs,  omitting  the  share  claimed  by  the 
Treasury.  With  the  money  they  built  an  upper 
story  to  their  house,  which  was  situated  at  the 
point  of  Ploubazlanec,  at  the  very  land's  end,  in 
the  hamlet  of  Pors-Even,  overlooking  the  sea, 
and  having  a  grand  outlook. 

"  It  is  mighty  tough,  though,"  said  he,  "this 
here  life  of  an  Icelander,  having  to  start  in  Feb- 

42 


The  Second  Meeting 

ruary  for  such  a  country,  where  it  is  awful  cold 
and  bleak,  with  a  raging,  foaming  sea." 

Gaud  remembered  every  phrase  of  their  con- 
versation at  the  ball,  as  if  it  had  all  happened  yes- 
terday, and  details  came  regularly  back  to  her 
mind,  as  she  looked  upon  the  night  falling  over 
PaimpoL  If  Yann  had  had  no  idea  of  marriage, 
why  had  he  told  her  all  the  items  of  his  existence, 
to  which  she  had  listened,  as  only  an  engaged 
sweetheart  would  have  done  ;  he  did  not  seem  a 
commonplace  young  man,  prone  to  babbling  his 
business  to  everybody  who  came  along. 

**  The  occupation  is  pretty  good,  nevertheless," 
he  said,  "  and  I  shall  never  change  my  career. 
Some  years  we  make  eight  hundred  francs,  and 
others  twelve  hundred,  which  I  get  upon  my 
return,  and  hand  over  to  the  old  lady." 

**To  your  mother.  Monsieur  Yann,  eh?" 

"Yes,  every  penny  of  it,  always.  It's  the 
custom  with  us  Icelanders,  Mademoiselle  Gaud." 
He  spoke  of  this  as  a  quite  ordinary  and  natural 
course. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  hardly  believe  it,  but  I 
scarcely  ever  have  any  pocket-money.  Of  a 
Sunday  mother  gives  me  a  little  when  I  come 
into  Paimpol.  And  so  it  goes  all  the  time. 
Why,  look  'ee   here,  this   year   my  father  had 

43 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

these  clothes  made  for  me,  without  which  treat 
I  never  could  have  come  to  the  wedding ;  certain 
sure,  for  I  never  should  have  dared  offer  you  my 
arm  in  my  old  duds  of  last  year." 

For  one  like  her,  accustomed  to  seeing  Paris- 
ians, Yann's  habiliments  were,  perhaps,  not  very 
stylish;  a  short  jacket  open  over  the  old-fash- 
ioned waistcoat ;  but  the  build  of  their  wearer 
was  irreproachably  handsome,  so  that  he  had  a 
noble  look  withal. 

Smiling,  he  looked  at  her  straight  in  the 
depths  of  her  eyes  each  time  he  spoke  to  her,  so 
as  to  divine  her  opinion.  And  how  good  and 
honest  was  his  look,  as  he  told  her  all  these  short- 
comings, so  that  she  might  well  understand  that 
•he  was  not  rich  ! 

And  she  smiled  also,  as  she  gazed  at  him  full 
in  the  face  ;  answering  seldom,  but  listening  with 
her  whole  soul,  more  and  more  astonished  and 
more  and  more  drawn  towards  him.  What  a 
mixture  of  untamed  roughness  and  caressing 
childishness  he  was  !  His  earnest  voice,  short 
and  blunt  towards  others,  became  softer  and 
more  and  more  tender  as  he  spoke  to  her ;  and 
for  her  alone  he  knew  how  to  make  it  trill  with 
extreme  sweetness,  like  the  music  of  a  stringed 
instrument  with  the  mute  upon  it. 

44 


The  Second  Meeting 

What  a  singular  and  astonishing  fact  it  was 
to  see  this  man  of  brawn,  with  his  free  air  and 
forbidding  aspect,  always  treated  by  his  family 
like  a  child,  and  deeming  it  quite  natural ;  having 
travelled  over  all  the  earth,  met  with  all  sorts  of 
adventures,  incurred  all  dangers,  and  yet  showing 
the  same  respectful  and  absolute  obedience  to 
his  parents. 

She  compared  him  to  others,  two  or  three 
dandies  in  Paris,  clerks,  quill-drivers,  or  what  not, 
who  had  pestered  her  with  their  attentions,  for 
the  sake  of  her  money.  He  seemed  to  be  the 
best,  as  well  as  the  most  handsome,  man  she  had 
ever  met. 

To  put  herself  more  on  an  equality  with  him 
she  related  how,  in  her  own  home,  she  had  not 
always  been  so  well-off  as  at  present;  that  her 
father  had  begun  life  as  a  fisherman  off  Iceland, 
and  always  held  the  Icelanders  in  great  esteem  ; 
and  that  she  herself  could  clearly  remember  as  a 
little  child,  having  run  barefooted  upon  the  beach, 
after  her  poor  mother's  death. 

Oh !  the  exquisite  night  of  that  ball,  unique 
in  her  life !  It  seemed  far  away  now,  for  it 
dated  back  to  December,  and  May  had  already 
returned.  All  the  sturdy  partners  of  that  even- 
ing were  out  fishing  yonder  now,  scattered  over 

45 


On  the  Icy   Sea 

the  far  northern  seas,  in  the  clear  pale  sun,  in  in- 
tense loneliness,  while  the  dust  thickened  silently 
on  the  land  of  Brittany. 

Still  Gaud  remained  at  her  window.  The 
market-place  of  Paimpol,  hedged  in  on  all  sides 
by  the  old-fashioned  houses,  became  sadder  and 
sadder  with  the  darkling ;  everywhere  reigned  si- 
lence. Above  the  housetops  the  still  brilliant 
space  of  the  heavens  seemed  to  grow  more 
hollow,  to  raise  itself  up  and  finally  separate 
itself  from  all  terrestrial  things :  these,  in  the 
last  hour  of  day,  were  entirely  blended  into 
the  single  dark  outline  of  the  gables  of  olden 
roofs. 

From  time  to  time  a  window  or  door  wou4d 
be  suddenly  closed  ;  some  old  sailor,  shaky  upon 
his  legs,  would  blunder  out  of  the  tavern  and 
plunge  into  the  small  dark  streets;  or  girls 
passed  by,  returning  home  late  after  their  walk 
and  carrying  nosegays  of  May-flowers.  One  of 
them  who  knew  Gaud,  calling  out  good-evening 
to  her,  held  up  a  branch  of  hawthorn  high 
towards  her  as  if  to  offer  it  her  to  smell ;  in  the 
transparent  darkness  she  could  distinguish  the 
airy  tufts  of  its  white  blossoms.  From  the  gar- 
dens and  courts  floated   another   soft   perfume, 

that  of  the   flowering  honeysuckle    along    the 

46 


The  Second  Meeting 

granite  walls,  mingled  with  a  vague  smell  of  sea- 
weed in  the  harbour. 

Bats  flew  silently  through  the  air  above,  like 
hideous  creatures  in  a  dream. 

Many  and  many  an  evening  had  Gaud  passed 
at  her  window,  gazing  upon  the  melancholy 
market-place,  thinking  of  the  Icelanders  who 
were  far  away,  and  always  of  that  same  ball. 

Yann  was  a  capital  waltzer,  as  straight  as  a 
young  oak,  moving  with  a  graceful  yet  dignified 
bearing,  his  head  thrown  well  back,  his  brown, 
curled  locks  falling  upon  his  brow,  and  floating 
with  the  motion  of  the  dance.  Gaud,  who  was 
rather  tall  herself,  felt  their  contact  upon  her  cap, 
as  he  bent  towards  her  to  grasp  her  more  tightly 
during  the  swift  movements. 

Now  and  then  he  pointed  out  to  her  his  little 
sister  Marie,  dancing  with  Sylvestre,  who  was 
\itx  fianc^.  He  smiled  with  a  very  tender  look 
at  seeing  them  both  so  young  and  yet  so  reserved 
towards  one  another,  bowing  gravely,  and  put- 
ting on  very  timid  airs  as  they  communed  lowly, 
on  most  amiable  subjects,  no  doubt. 

Of  course,  Yann  would  never  have  allowed  it 
to  be  otherwise  ;  yet  it  amused  him,  venturesome 
and  bold  as  he  was,  to  find  them  so  coy  ;  and  he 
and  Gaud  exchanged  one  of  their  confidential 

VOL.  20  47  Romances  4 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

smiles,  seeming  to  say :  "  How  pretty,  but  how 
funny  our  little  brother  is  ! " 

Towards  the  close  of  the  evening,  all  the 
girls  received  the  breaking-up  kiss ;  cousins,  be- 
trothed, and  lovers,  all,  in  a  good  frank,  honest 
way,  before  everybody.  But,  of  course,  Yann 
had  not  kissed  Gaud  ;  none  might  take  that  lib- 
erty with  the  daughter  of  M.  M^vel ;  but  he 
seemed  to  strain  her  a  little  more  tightly  to  him 
during  the  last  waltzes,  and  she,  trusting  him, 
did  not  resist,  but  yielded  closer  still,  giving  up 
her  whole  soul,  in  the  sudden,  deep,  and  joyous 
attraction  that  bound  her  to  him. 

"  Did  you  see  the  saucy  minx,  what  eyes  she 
made  at  him  ? "  queried  two  or  three  girls,  with 
their  own  eyes  timidly  bent  under  their  golden 
or  black  brows,  though  they  had  among  the 
dancers  one  or  two  lovers,  to  say  the  least.  And 
truly  Gaud  did  look  at  Yann  very  hard,  only  she 
had  the  excuse  that  he  was  the  first  and  only 
young  man  whom  she  ever  had  noticed  in  her 
life. 

At  dawn,  when  the  party  broke  up  and  left 
in  confusion,  they  had  taken  leave  of  one 
another,  like  betrothed  ones,  who  are  sure  to 
meet  the  following  day.  To  return  home,  she 
had  crossed  this  same    market-place   with   her 

48 


The  Second  Meeting 

father,  little  fatigued,  feeling  light  and  gay,  happy 
to  breathe  the  frosty  fog,  and  loving  the  sad 
dav;n  itself,  so  sweet  and  enjoyable  seemed 
bare  life. 

The  May  night  had  long  since  fallen ;  nearly 
all  the  windows  had  closed  with  a  grating  of  their 
iron  fittings,  but  Gaud  remained  at  her  place, 
leaving  hers  open.  The  last  passers-by,  who 
could  distinguish  the  white  cap  in  the  darkness, 
might  say  to  themselves,  "That's  surely  some 
girl,  dreaming  of  her  sweetheart."  It  was  true, 
for  she  was  dreaming  of  hers,  with  a  wild  desire 
to  weep ;  her  tiny  white  teeth  bit  her  lips  and 
continually  opened  and  pursed  up  the  deep  dim- 
ple that  outlined  the  under  lip  of  her  fresh,  pure 
mouth.  Her  eyes  remained  fixed  on  the  dark- 
ness, seeing  nothing  of  tangible  things. 

But,  after  the  ball,  why  had  he  not  returned  ? 
What  change  had  come  over  him  ?  Meeting 
him  by  chance,  he  seemed  to  avoid  her,  turning 
aside  his  look,  which  was  always  fleeting,  by  the 
way.  She  had  often  debated  this  with  Sylvestre, 
who  could  not  understand  either. 

"  But  still,  he's  the  lad  for  you  to  marry, 
Gaud,"  said  Sylvestre,  "if  your  father  allowed 
ye.  In  the  whole  country  round  you'd  not  find 
his  like.     First,  let  me  tell  'ee,  he's  a  rare  good 

49 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

one,  though  he  mayn't  look  it.  He  seldom  gets 
tipsy.  He  sometimes  is  stubborn,  but  is  very 
pliable  for  all  that.  No,  I  can't  tell  'ee  how 
good  he  is !  And  such  an  A.B.  seaman  !  Every 
new  fishing  season  the  skippers  regularly  fight  to 
have  him." 

She  was  quite  sure  of  her  father's  permission, 
for  she  never  had  been  thwarted  in  any  of  her 
whims.  And  it  mattered  little  to  her  whether 
Yann  were  rich  or  not.  To  begin  with,  a  sailor 
like  him  would  need  but  a  little  money  in  ad- 
vance to  attend  the  classes  of  the  coast  navigation 
school,  and  might  shortly  become  a  captain 
whom  all  shipowners  would  gladly  intrust  with 
their  vessels.  It  also  mattered  little  to  her  that 
he  was  such  a  giant ;  great  strength  may  become 
a  defect  in  a  woman,  but  in  a  man  is  not  preju- 
dicial to  good  looks. 

Without  seeming  to  care  much,  she  had  ques* 
tioned  the  girls  of  the  country  round  about,  who 
knew  all  the  love  stories  going ;  but  he  had  no 
recognized  engagement  with  any  one,  he  paid  no 
more  attention  to  one  than  another,  but  roved 
from  right  to  left,  to  L^zardrieux  as  well  as  to 
Paimpol,  to  all  the  beauties  who  cared  to  receive 
his  addresses. 

One  Sunday  evening,  very  late,  she  had  seen 
50 


The  Second  Meeting 

him  pass  under  her  windows,  in  company  with 
one  Jeannie  Caroff,  whom  he  tucked  under  his 
wing  very  closely ;  she  was  pretty,  certainly,  but 
had  a  very  bad  reputation.  This  had  pained 
Gaud  very  much  indeed.  She  had  been  told 
that  he  was  very  quick-tempered:  one  night 
being  rather  tipsy  in  a  tavern  of  Paimpol,  where 
the  Icelanders  held  their  revels,  he  had  thrown  a 
great  marble  table  through  a  door  that  they  would 
not  open  to  him.  But  she  forgave  him  all  that ; 
we  all  know  what  sailors  are  sometimes  when  the 
fit  takes  them.  But  if  his  heart  were  good,  why 
had  he  sought  one  out  who  never  had  thought 
of  him,  to  leave  her  afterward  ;  what  reason  had 
he  had  to  look  at  her  for  a  whole  evening  with 
his  fair,  open  smile,  and  to  use  his  softest,  ten- 
derest  voice  to  speak  to  her  of  his  affairs  as  to  a 
betrothed?  Now,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
become  attached  to  another,  or  to  change.  In 
this  same  country,  when  quite  a  child,  she  was 
used  to  being  scolded  when  naughty  and  called 
more  stubborn  than  any  other  child  in  her  ideas ; 
and  she  had  not  altered.  Fine  lady  as  she  was 
now,  rather  serious  and  proud  in  her  ways,  none 
had  refashioned  her,  and  she  remained  always  the 
same. 

After  this  ball,  the  past  winter  had  been  spent 
51 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

in  waiting  to  see  him  again,  but  he  had  not  even 
come  to  say  good-bye  before  his  departure  for 
Iceland.  Since  he  was  no  longer  by,  nothing 
else  existed  in  her  eyes ;  slowly  time  seemed  to 
drag  until  the  return  in  autumn,  when  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  put  an  end  to  her  doubts. 

The  town-hall  clock  struck  eleven,  with  that 
peculiar  resonance  that  bells  have  during  the 
quiet  spring  nights.  At  Paimpol  eleven  o'clock 
is  very  late  ;  so  Gaud  closed  her  window  and  lit 
her  lamp,  to  go  to  bed. 

Perhaps  it  was  only  shyness  in  Yann,  after 
all,  or  was  it  because,  being  proud  also,  he  was 
afraid  of  a  refusal,  as  she  was  so  rich  ?  She  wanted 
to  ask  him  this  herself  straightforwardly,  but 
Sylvestre  thought  that  it  would  not  be  the  right 
thing,  and  it  would  not  look  well  for  her  to  ap- 
pear so  bold.  In  Paimpol  already  her  manners 
and  dress  were  sufficiently  criticised. 

She  undressed  slowly  as  if  in  a  dream  ;  first 
her  muslin  cap,  then  her  town-cut  dress,  which 
^e  threw  carelessly  on  a  chair.  The  little  lamp, 
alone  to  bum  at  this  late  hour,  bathed  her  shoul- 
ders and  bosom  in  its  mysterious  light,  her  per- 
fect form,  which  no  eye  ever  had  contemplated, 
and  never  could  contemplate  if  Yann  did  not 

marry  her.     She  knew  her  face  was  beautiful,  but 

52 


The  Second  Meeting 

she  was  unconscious  of  the  beauty  of  her  figure. 
In  this  remote  land,  among  daughters  of  fishers, 
beauty  of  shape  is  almost  part  of  the  race ;  it  is 
scarcely  ever  noticed,  and  even  the  least  respect- 
able women  are  ashamed  to  parade  it. 

Gaud  began  to  unbraid  her  tresses,  coiled  in 
the  shape  of  a  snail-shell  and  rolled  round  her 
ears,  and  two  plaits  fell  upon  her  shoulders  like 
weighty  serpents.  She  drew  them  up  into  a 
crown  on  the  top  of  her  head — this  was  comfort- 
able for  sleeping — so  that,  by  reason  of  her 
straight  profile,  she  looked  like  a  Roman  vestal. 

She  still  held  up  her  arms,  and  biting  her  lip, 
she  slowly  ran  her  fingers  through  the  golden 
mass,  like  a  child  playing  with  a  toy,  while  think- 
ing of  something  else ;  and  again  letting  it  fall, 
she  quickly  un plaited  it  to  spread  it  out ;  soon 
she  was  covered  with  her  own  locks,  which  fell 
to  her  knees,  looking  like  some  Druidess. 

And  sleep  having  come,  notwithstanding  love 
and  an  impulse  to  weep,  she  threw  herself  roughly 
in  her  bed,  hiding  her  face  in  the  silken  masses 
floating  round  her  outspread  like  a  veil. 

In  her  hut  in  Ploubazlanec,  Granny  Moan, 
who  was  on  the  other  and  darker  side  of  her  life, 
had  also  fallen  to  sleep — the  frozen  sleep  of  old 
age — dreaming  of  her  grandson  and  of  death. 

53 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

And  at  this  same  hour,  on  board  the  Marie ^ 
on  the  Northern  Sea,  which  was  very  heavy  on 
this  particular  evening,  Yann  and  Sylvestre — the 
two  longed-for  rovers — sang  ditties  to  one  an- 
other, and  went  on  gaily  with  their  fishing  in  the 
everlasting  daylight. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEWS   FROM    HOME 

About  a  month  later,  around  Iceland,  the 
weather  was  of  that  rare  kind  that  the  sailors  call 
a  dead  calm  ;  in  other  words,  in  the  air  nothing 
moved,  as  if  all  the  breezes  were  exhausted  and 
their  task  done. 

The  sky  was  covered  with  a  white  veil,  which 
darkened  towards  its  lower  border  near  the  ho- 
rizon, and  gradually  passed  into  dull  gray  leaden 
tints ;  over  this  the  still  waters  threw  a  pale  light, 
which  fatigued  the  eyes  and  chilled  the  gazer 
through  and  through.  All  at  once,  liquid  designs 
played  over  the  surface,  such  light  evanescent 
rings  as  one  forms  by  breathing  on  a  mirror. 
The  sheen  of  the  waters  seemed  covered  with  a 
net  of  faint  patterns,  which  intermingled  and  re- 
formed, rapidly  disappearing.     Everlasting  night 

54 


News  from  Home  

or  everlasting  day,  one  could  scarcely  say  what 
it  was;  the  sun,  which  pointed  to  no  special 
hour,  remained  fixed,  as  if  presiding  over  the 
fading  glory  of  dead  things  ;  it  appeared  but  as  a 
mere  ring,  being  almost  without  substance,  and 
magnified  enormously  by  a  shifting  halo. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre,  leaning  against  one  an- 
other, sang  "  Jean-Frangois  de  Nantes,"  the  song 
without  an  end ;  amused  by  its  very  monotony, 
looking  at  one  another  from  the  corner  of  their 
eyes  as  if  laughing  at  the  childish  fun,  with  which 
they  began  the  verses  over  and  over  again,  trying 
to  put  fresh  spirit  into  them  each  time.  Their 
cheeks  were  rosy  under  the  sharp  freshness  of  the 
morning :  the  pure  air  they  breathed  was  strength- 
ening, and  they  inhaled  it  deep  down  in  their 
chests,  the  very  fountain  of  all  vigorous  existence. 
And  yet,  around  them,  was  a  semblance  of  non- 
existence, of  a  world  either  finished  or  not  yet 
created;  the  light  itself  had  no  warmth;  al) 
things  seemed  without  motion,  and  as  if  chilled 
for  eternity  under  the  great  ghostly  eye  that  rep- 
resented the  sun. 

The  Marie  projected  over  the  sea  a  shadow 

long  and  black  as  night,  or  rather  appearing  deep 

e,Teen  in  the  midst  of  the  polished  surface,  which 

"  ^'^ted  all  the  purity  of  the  heavens ;   in  this 

55 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

shadowed  part,  which  had  no  glitter,  could  be 
plainly  distinguished  through  the  transparency, 
myriads  upon  myriads  of  fish,  all  alike,  gliding 
slowly  in  the  same  direction,  as  if  bent  towards 
the  goal  of  their  perpetual  travels.  They  were 
cod,  performing  their  evolutions  all  as  parts  of  a 
single  body,  stretched  full  length  in  the  same 
direction,  exactly  parallel,  offering  the  effect  of 
gray  streaks,  unceasingly  agitated  by  a  quick 
motion  that  gave  a  look  of  fluidity  to  the  mass 
of  dumb  lives.  Sometimes,  with  a  sudden  quick 
movement  of  the  tail,  all  turned  round  at  the 
same  time,  showing  the  sheen  of  their  silvered 
sides;  and  the  same  movement  was  repeated 
throughout  the  entire  shoal  by  slow  undulations, 
as  if  a  thousand  metal  blades  had  each  thrown  a 
tiny  flash  of  lightning  from  under  the  surface. 

The  sun,  already  very  low,  lowered  further ; 
so  night  had  decidedly  come.  As  the  great 
ball  of  flame  descended  into  the  leaden-coloured 
zones  that  surrounded  the  sea,  it  grew  yellow, 
and  its  outer  rim  became  more  clear  and  solid. 
Now  it  could  be  looked  straight  at,  as  if  it  were 
but  the  moon.  Yet  it  still  gave  out  light  and 
looked  quite  near  in  the  immensity ;  it  seemed 
that  by  going  in  a  ship,  only  so  far  as  the  edg 
of  the  horizon,  one  might  collide  with  ^' 

56 


News  from  Home 

mournful  globe,  floating  in  the  air  just  a  few 
yards  above  the  water. 

Fishing  was  going  on  well ;  looking  into  the 
calm  water,  one  could  see  exactly  what  took 
place ;  how  the  cod  came  to  bite,  with  a  greedy 
spring ;  then,  feeling  themselves  hooked,  wrig- 
gled about,  as  if  to  hook  themselves  still  firmer. 
And  every  moment,  with  rapid  action,  the  fish- 
ermen hauled  in  their  lines,  hand  overhand, 
throwing  the  fish  to  the  man  who  was  to  clean 
them  and  flatten  them  out. 

The  Paimpol  fleet  was  scattered  over  the 
quiet  mirror,  animating  the  desert.  Here  and 
there  appeared  distant  sails,  unfurled  for  mere 
form's  sake,  considering  there  was  no  breeze. 
They  were  like  clear  white  outlines  upon  the 
greys  of  the  horizon.  In  this  dead  calm,  fishing 
off  Iceland  seemed  so  easy  and  tranquil  a  trade 
that  ladies*  yachting  was  no  name  for  it. 

"  Jean  Francois  de  Nantes ; 
Jean  Fran9ois, 
Jean  Frangois ! " 

So  they  sang,  like  a  couple  of  children. 

Yann  little  troubled  whether  or  no  he  was 
handsome  and  good-looking.  He  was  boyish 
only  with  Sylvestre,  it  is  true,  and  sang  and 
joked  with  no  other ;   on  the  contrary,  he  was 

57 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

rather  distant  with  the  others  and  proud  and  dis- 
dainful— very  willing  though,  when  his  help  was 
required,  and  always  kind  and  obliging  when  not 
irritated. 

So  the  twain  went  on  singing  their  song, 
with  two  others,  a  few  steps  off,  singing  another, 
a  dirge — a.  clashing  of  sleepiness,  health,  and 
vague  melancholy.  But  they  did  not  feel  dull, 
and  the  hours  flew  by. 

Down  in  the  cabin  a  fire  still  smouldered  in 
the  iron  range,  and  the  hatch  was  kept  shut,  so 
as  to  give  the  appearance  of  night  there  for  those 
who  needed  sleep.  They  required  but  little  air 
to  sleep ;  indeed,  less  robust  fellows,  brought  up 
in  towns,  would  have  wanted  more.  They  used 
to  go  to  bed  after  the  watch  at  irregular  times, 
just  when  they  felt  inclined,  hours  counting  for 
little  in  this  never-fading  light.  And  they  always 
slept  soundly  and  peacefully  without  restlessness 
or  bad  dreams. 

••  Jean  Frangois  de  Nantes ; 
Jean  Francois, 
Jean  Francois ! " 

They  looked  attentively  at  some  almost  im- 
perceptible object,  far  off  on  the  horizon,  some 
faint  smoke  rising  from  the  waters  like  a  tiny 

jot  of  another  gray  tint  slightly  darker  than  the 

58 


News  from  Home 

sky's.  Their  eyes  were  used  to  plumbing  depths, 
and  they  had  seen  it. 

"A  sail,  a  sail,  thereaway !" 

**  I  have  an  idea,"  said  the  skipper,  staring  at- 
tentively, **  that  it's  a  government  cruiser  coming 
on  her  inspection-round." 

This  faint  smoke  brought  news  of  home  to 
the  sailors,  and  among  others,  a  letter  we  wot 
of,  from  an  old  grandam,  written  by  the  hand  of 
a  beautiful  girl.  Slowly  the  steamer  approached 
till  they  perceived  her  black  hull  Yes,  it  was 
the  cruiser,  making  the  inspection  in  these  west- 
em  fjords. 

At  the  same  time,  a  slight  breeze  sprang  up, 
fresher  yet  to  inhale,  and  began  to  tarnish  the 
surface  of  the  still  waters  in  patches;  it  traced 
designs  in  a  bluish  green  tint  over  the  shining 
mirror,  and  scattering  in  trails,  these  fanned  out 
or  branched  off  like  a  coral  tree  ;  all  very  rapidly 
with  a  low  murmur  ;  it  was  like  a  signal  of  awak- 
ening foretelling  the  end  of  this  intense  torpor. 
The  sky,  its  veil  being  rent  asunder,  grew  clear ; 
the  vapours  fell  down  on  the  horizon,  massing  in 
heaps  like  slate-coloured  wadding,  as  if  to  form  a 
soft  bank  to  the  sea.  The  two  ever-during  mir- 
rors between  which  the  fishermen  lived,  the  one 
on  high  and  the  one  beneath,  recovered  their 

59 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

deep  lucidity,  as  if  the  mists  tarnishing  them  had 
been  brushed  away. 

The  weather  was  changing  in  a  rapid  way 
that  foretold  no  good.  Smacks  began  to  arrive 
from  all  points  of  the  immense  plane ;  first,  all 
the  French  smacks  in  the  vicinity,  from  Brittany, 
Normandy,  Boulogne,  or  Dunkirk.  Like  birds 
flocking  to  a  call,  they  assembled  round  the 
cruiser ;  from  the  apparently  empty  corneis  of 
the  horizon,  others  appeared  on  every  side  ;  their 
tiny  gray  wings  were  seen  till  they  peopled  the 
pallid  waste. 

No  longer  slowly  drifting,  for  they  had 
spread  out  their  sails  to  the  new  and  cool  breeze, 
and  cracked  on  all  to  approach. 

Far-off  Iceland  also  reappeared,  as  if  she 
would  fain  come  near  them  also ;  showing  her 
great  mountains  of  bare  stones  more  distinctly 
than  ever. 

And  there  arose  a  new  Iceland  of  similar 
colour,  which  little  by  little  took  a  more  definite 
form,  and  none  the  less  was  purely  illusive,  its 
gigantic  mountains  merely  a  condensation  of 
mists.  The  sun,  sinking  low,  seemed  incapable 
of  ever  rising  again  over  all  things,  though  glow- 
ing through  this  phantom  island  so  tangibly  that 

it   seemed   placed   in    front    of    it     Incompre- 

60 


News  from  Home 

hensible  sight !  no  longer  was  it  surrounded  by 
a  halo,  but  its  disc  had  become  firmly  spread, 
rather  like  some  faded  yellow  planet  slowly  de- 
caying and  suddenly  checked  there  in  the  heart 
of  chaos. 

The  cruiser,  which  had  stopped,  was  fully 
surrounded  by  the  fleet  of  Icelanders.  From 
all  boats  were  lowered,  like  so  many  nut-shell% 
and  conveyed  their  strong,  long-bearded  men,  in 
barbaric-looking  dresses,  to  the  steamer. 

Like  children,  all  had  something  to  beg  for ; 
remedies  for  petty  ailments,  materials  for  repairs, 
change  of  diet,  and  home  letters.  Others  came, 
sent  by  their  captains,  to  be  clapped  in  irons,  to 
expiate  some  fault ;  as  they  had  all  been  in  the 
navy,  they  took  this  as  a  matter  of  course. 
When  the  narrow  deck  of  the  cruiser  was 
blocked-up  by  four  or  five  of  these  hulking  fel- 
lows, stretched  out  with  the  bilboes  round  their 
feet,  the  old  sailor  who  had  just  chained  them  up 
called  out  to  them,  "  Roll  o*  one  side,  my  lads,  to 
let  us  work,  d'ye  hear  ? "  which  they  obediently 
did  with  a  grin. 

There  were  a  great  many  letters  this  time  for 

the  Iceland  fleet.     Among  the  rest,  two  for  "  La 

Marie,  Captain    Guermeur " ;   one   addressed  to 

*'  Monsieur  Gaos,  Yann,"  the  other  to  **  Monsieur 

6i 


On  the  Icy  Sea 

Moan,  Sylvestre."  The  latter  had  come  by  way 
of  Rykavyk,  where  the  cruiser  had  taken  it  on. 

The  purser,  diving  into  his  post-bags  of  sail- 
cloth, distributed  them  all  round,  often  finding  it 
hard  to  read  the  addresses,  which  were  not 
always  written  very  skilfully,  while  the  captain 
kept  on  saying :  "  Look  alive  there,  look  alive ! 
the  barometer  is  falling." 

He  was  rather  anxious  to  see  all  the  tiny 
yawls  afloat,  and  so  many  vessels  assembled  in 
that  dangerous  region. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  used  to  read  their  letters 
together.  This  time  they  read  them  by  the  light 
of  the  midnight  sun,  shining  above  the  horizon, 
still  like  a  dead  luminary.  Sitting  together,  a 
little  to  one  side,  in  a  retired  nook  of  the  deck, 
their  arms  about  each  other's  shoulders,  they 
very  slowly  read,  as  if  to  enjoy  more  thoroughly 
the  news  sent  them  from  home. 

In  Yann's  letter  Sylvestre  got  news  of  Marie 
Gaos,  his  little  sweetheart ;  in  Sylvestre's,  Yann 
read  all  Granny  Moan's  funny  stories,  for  she 
had  not  her  like  for  amusing  the  absent  ones  you 
will  remember ;  and  the  last  paragraph  concern- 
ing him  came  up :  the  **  word  of  greeting  to 
young  Gaos." 

When  the  letters  were  got  through,  Sylvestre 
62 


News  from  Home 

timidly  showed  his  to  his  big  friend,  to  try  and 
make  him  admire  the  writing  of  it. 

"  Look,  is  it  not  pretty  writing,  Yann  ?" 

But  Yann,  who  knew  very  well  whose  hand 
had  traced  it,  turned  aside,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, as  much  as  to  say  that  he  was  worried  too 
often  about  this  Gaud  girl. 

So  Sylvestre  carefully  folded  up  the  poor,  re- 
jected paper,  put  it  into  its  envelope  and  all  in 
his  jersey,  next  his  breast,  saying  to  himself 
sadly :  "  For  sure,  they'll  never  marry.  But 
what  on  earth  can  he  have  to  say  against  her?" 

Midnight  was  struck  on  the  cruiser*s  bell. 
And  yet  our  couple  remained  sitting  there,  think- 
ing of  home,  the  absent  ones,  a  thousand  things 
in  reverie.  At  this  same  moment  the  everlasting 
sun,  which  had  dipped  its  lower  edge  into  the 
waters,  began  slowly  to  reascend,  and  lo !  this 
was  morning. 


63 


PART   II 
IN  THE  BRETON   LAND 


'^ 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   PLAYTHING   OF   THE    STORM 

The  Northern  sun  had  taken  another  aspect 
and  changed  its  colour,  opening  the  new  day  by  a 
sinister  mom.  Completely  free  from  its  veil,  it 
gave  forth  its  grand  rays,  crossing  the  sky  in  fit- 
ful flashes,  foretelling  nasty  weather.  During  the 
past  few  days  it  had  been  too  fine  to  last.  The 
winds  blew  upon  that  swarm  of  boats,  as  if  to 
clear  the  sea  of  them  ;  and  they  began  to  disperse 
and  flee,  like  an  army  put  to  rout,  before  the 
warning  written  in  the  air,  beyond  possibility  to 
misread.  Harder  and  harder  it  blew,  making 
men  and  ships  quake  alike. 

And  the  still  tiny  waves  began  to  run  one 
after  another  and  to  melt  together ;  at  first  they 
were  frosted  over  with  white  foam  spread  out  in 
patches ;  and  then,  with  a  whizzing  sound,  arose 
smoke  as  though  they  burned  and  scorched,  and 
the  whistling  grew  louder  every  moment.  Fish- 
catching  was  no  longer  thought  of ;  it  was  their 

wprk  on  deck.     The  fishing  lines  had  been  drawn 

67 


In  the  Breton  Land 

in,  and  all  hurried  to  make  sail  and  some  to  seek 
for  shelter  in  the  fjords,  while  yet  others  pre- 
ferred to  round  the  southern  point  of  Iceland, 
finding  it  safer  to  stand  for  the  open  sea,  with 
the  free  space  about  them,  and  run  before  the 
stern  wind.  They  could  still  see  each  other  a 
while :  here  and  there,  above  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  sails  wagged  as  poor  wearied  birds  fleeing; 
the  masts  tipped,  but  ever  and  anon  righted,  like 
the  weighted  pith  figures  that  similarly  resume 
*ian  erect  attitude  when  released  after  being  blown 
down. 

The  illimitable  cloudy  roof,  erstwhile  com- 
pacted towards  the  western  horizon,  in  an  island 
form,  began  to  break  up  on  high  and  send  its 
fragments  over  the  surface.  It  seemed  inde- 
structible, for  vainly  did  the  winds  stretch  it,  pull 
and  toss  it  asunder,  continually  tearing  away  dark 
strips,  which  they  waved  over  the  pale  yellow 
sky,  gradually  becoming  intensely  and  icily  livid. 
Ever  more  strongly  grew  the  wind  that  threw  all 
things  in  turmoil. 

The  cruiser  had  departed  for  shelter  at  Ice- 
,land ;  some  fishers  alone  remained  upon  the 
seething  sea,  which  now  took  an  ill-boding  look 
and  a  dreadful  colour.  All  hastily  made  prepara- 
tions for  bad  weather.      Between  one  and  an- 

68 


The  Plaything  of  the  Storm 

other  the  distance  grew  greater,  till  some  were 
lost  sight  of. 

The  waves,  curling  up  in  scrolls,  continued 
to  run  after  each  other,  to  reassemble  and  climb 
on  one  another,  and  between  them  the  hollows 
deepened. 

In  a  few  hours,  everything  was  belaboured 
and  overthrown  in  these  regions  that  had  been 
so  calm  the  day  before,  and  instead  of  the  past 
silence,  the  uproar  was  deafening.  The  present 
agitation  was  a  dissolving  view,  unconscientious 
and  useless,  and  quickly  accomplished.  What 
was  the  object  of  it  all?  What  a  mystery  of 
blind  destruction  it  was ! 

The  clouds  continued  to  stream  out  on  high, 
out  of  the  west  continually,  racing  and  darkening 
all.  A  few  yellow  clefts  remained,  through  which 
the  sun  shot  its  rays  in  volleys.  And  the  now 
greenish  water  was  striped  more  thickly  with 
snowy  froth. 

By  midday  the  Marie  was  made  completely 
snug  for  dirty  weather;  her  hatches  battened 
down,  and  her  sails  storm-reefed ;  she  bounded 
lightly  and  elastic ;  for  all  the  horrid  confusion, 
she  seemed  to  be  playing  like  the  porpoises,  also 
amused  in  storms.  With  her  foresail  taken  in, 
she  simply  scudded  before  the  wind. 


In  the  Breton  Land 

It  had  become  quite  dark  overhead,  where 
stretched  the  heavily  crushing  vault.  Studded 
with  shapeless  gloomy  spots,  it  appeared  a  set 
dome,  unless  a  steadier  gaze  ascertained  that 
everything  was  in  the  full  rush  of  motion  ;  end- 
less gray  veils  were  drawn  along,  unceasingly 
followed  by  others,  from  the  profundities  of  the 
sky-line — draperies  of  darkness,  pulled  from  a 
never-ending  roll. 

The  Marie  fled  faster  and  faster  before  the 
wind ;  and  time  fled  also — before  some  invisible 
and  mysterious  power.  The  gale,  the  sea,  the 
Marie,  and  the  clouds  were  all  lashed  into  one 
great  madness  of  hasty  flight  towards  the  same 
point.  The  fastest  of  all  was  the  wind ;  then 
the  huge  seething  billows,  heavier  and  slower, 
toiling  after ;  and,  lastly,  the  smack,  dragged  into 
the  general  whirl.  The  waves  tracked  her  down 
with  their  white  crests,  tumbling  onward  in  con- 
tinual motion,  and  she — though  always  being 
caught  up  to  and  outrun — still  managed  to  elude 
them  by  means  of  the  eddying  waters  she  spurned 
in  her  wake,  upon  which  they  vented  their  fury. 
In  this  similitude  of  flight  the  sensation  particu- 
larly experienced  was  of  buoyancy,  the  delight 
of  being  carried  along  without  effort  or  trouble, 
in  a  springy  sort  of  a  way.     The  Marie  mounted 

70 


The  Plaything  of  the  Storm 

over  the  waves  without  any  shaking,  as  if  the 
wind  had  lifted  her  clean  up ;  and  her  subsequent 
descent  was  a  slide.  She  almost  slid  backward, 
though,  at  times,  the  mountains  lowering  before 
her  as  if  continuing  to  run,  and  then  she  suddenly 
found  herself  dropped  into  one  of  the  measure- 
less hollows  that  evaded  her  also  ;  without  injury 
she  sounded  its  horrible  depths,  amid  a  loud 
splashing  of  water,  which  did  not  even  sprinkle 
her  decks,  but  was  blown  on  and  on  like  every- 
thing else,  evaporating  in  finer  and  finer  spray 
until  it  was  thinned  away  to  nothing.  In  the 
trough  it  was  darker,  and  when  each  wave  had 
passed  the  men  looked  behind  them  to  see  if  the 
next  to  appear  were  higher ;  it  came  upon  them 
with  furious  contortions,  and  curling  crests,  over 
its  transparent  emerald  body,  seeming  to  shriek : 
"Only  let  me  catch  you,  and  I'll  swallow  you 
whole!" 

But  this  never  came  to  pass,  for,  as  a  feather, 
the  billows  softly  bore  them  up  and  then  down 
fts  gently ;  they  felt  it  pass  under  them,  with  all 
its  boiling  surf  and  thunderous  roar.  And  so  on 
continually,  but  the  sea  getting  heavier  and  heav- 
ier. One  after  another  rushed  the  waves,  more 
and  more  gigantic,  like  a  long  chain  of  mountains, 
with  yawning  valleys.     And  the  madness  of  all 

v^L-  20  71  Romances  6 


In  the  Breton  Land 

this  movement,  under  the  ever-darkening  sky, 
accelerated  the  height  of  the  intolerable  clamour. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  stood  at  the  helm,  still 
singing  **  Jean  Frangois  de  Nantes"  ;  intoxicated 
with  the  quiver  of  speed,  they  sang  out  loudly, 
laughing  at  their  inability  to  hear  themselves  in 
this  prodigious  wrath  of  the  wind. 

*'  I  say,  lads,  does  it  smell  musty  up  here 
too  ?  "  called  out  Guermeur  to  them,  passing  his 
bearded  face  up  through  the  half-open  hatchway, 
like  Jack-in-the-box. 

Oh,  no !  it  certainly  did  not  smell  musty  on 
deck.  They  were  not  at  all  frightened,  being 
quite  conscious  of  what  man  can  cope  with,  hav- 
ing faith  in  the  strength  of  their  barkey  and  their 
arms.  And  they  furthermore  relied  upon  the 
protection  of  that  china  Virgin,  which  had  voy- 
aged forty  years  to  Iceland,  and  so  often  had 
danced  the  dance  of  this  day,  smiling  perpetually 
between  her  branches  of  artificial  flowers. 

Generally  speaking,  they   could  not  see  far 

around  them  ;  a  few  hundred  yards  off,  all  seemed 

entombed  in  the  fearfully  big  billows,  with  their 

frothing  crests  shutting  out  the  view.     They  felt 

as  if  in  an  enclosure,  continually  altering  shape ; 

and,  besides,  all  things  seemed  drowned  in  the 

aqueous  smoke,  which  fled  before  them  like  a 

72 


The  Plaything  of  the  Storm 

cloud  with  the  greatest  rapidity  over  the  heaving 
surface.  But  from  time  to  time  a  gleam  of  sun- 
light pierced  through  the  north-west  sky,  through 
which  a  squall  threatened ;  a  shuddering  light 
would  appear  from  above,  a  rather  spun-out  dim- 
ness, making  the  dome  of  the  heavens  denser 
than  before,  and  feebly  lighting  up  the  surge. 
This  new  light  was  sad  to  behold;  far-off 
glimpses  as  they  were,  that  gave  too  strong  an 
understanding  that  the  same  chaos  and  the  same 
fury  lay  on  all  sides,  even  far,  far  behind  the 
seemingly  void  horizon  ;  there  was  no  limit  to 
its  expanse  of  storm,  and  they  stood  alone  in 
its  midst ! 

A  tremendous  tumult  arose  all  about,  like 
the  prelude  of  an  apocalypse,  spreading  the  terror 
of  the  ultimate  end  of  the  earth.  And  amidst  it 
thousands  of  voices  could  be  heard  above,  shriek- 
ing, bellowing,  calling,  as  from  a  great  distance. 
It  was  only  the  wind,  the  great  motive  breath  of 
all  this  disorder,  the  voice  of  the  invisible  power 
ruling  all.  Then  came  other  voices,  nearer  and 
less  indefinite,  threatening  destruction,  and  mak- 
ing the  water  shudder  and  hiss  as  if  on  burning 
coals  ;  the  disturbance  increased  in  terror. 

Notwithstanding  their  flight,  the  sea  began 
to  gain  on  them,  to  "bury  them  up,"  as  they 

73 


In  the  Breton  Land 

phrased  it :  first  the  spray  fell  down  on  them 
from  behind,  and  masses  of  water  thrown  with 
such  violence  as  to  break  everything  in  their 
course.  The  waves  were  ever  increasing,  and  the 
tempest  tore  off  their  ridges  and  hurled  them, 
too,  upon  the  poop,  like  a  demon's  game  of 
snowballing,  till  dashed  to  atoms  on  the  bul- 
warks. Heavier  masses  fell  on  the  planks  with 
a  hammering  sound,  till  the  Marie  shivered 
throughout,  as  if  in  pain.  Nothing  could  be 
distinguished  over  the  side,  because  of  the  screen 
of  creamy  foam ;  and  when  the  winds  soughed 
more  loudly,  this  foam  formed  into  whirling 
spouts,  like  the  dust  of  the  way  in  summer  time. 
At  length  a  heavy  rain  fell  crossways,  and  soon 
straight  up  and  down,  and  how  all  these  elements 
of  destruction  yelled  together,  clashed  and  inter- 
locked, no  tongue  can  tell. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  stuck  staunchly  to  the 
helm,  covered  with  their  waterproofs,  hard  and 
shiny  as  sharkskin  ;  they  had  firmly  secured  them 
at  the  throat  by  tarred  strings,  and  likewise  at 
wrists  and  ankles  to  prevent  the  water  from  run- 
ning in,  and  the  rain  only  poured  oif  them ; 
when  it  fell  too  heavily,  they  arched  their 
backs,  and  held  all  the  more  stoutly,  not  to  be 
thrown  over  the  board.     Their  cheeks  burned, 

74 


The  Plaything  of  the  Storm 

and  every  minute  their  breath  was  beaten  out  or 
stopped. 

After  each  sea  was  shipped  and  rushed  over, 
they  exchanged  glances,  grinning  at  the  crust  of 
salt  settled  in  their  beards. 

In  the  long  run  though,  this  became  tire- 
some,  an  unceasing  fury,  which  always  promised 
a  worse  visitation.  The  fury  of  men  and  beasts 
soon  falls  and  dies  away  ;  but  the  fury  of  lifeless 
things,  without  cause  or  object,  is  as  mysterious 
as  life  and  death,  and  has  to  be  borne  for  very 

*0^^g«  «<  Jean  Francois  de  Nantes ; 

Jean  Frangois, 
Jean  Frangois ! " 

Through  their  pale  lips  still  came  the  refrain  of 
the  old  song,  but  as  from'  a  speaking  automaton, 
unconsciously  taken  up  from  time  to  time.  The 
excess  of  motion  and  uproar  had  made  them 
dumb,  and  despite  their  youth  their  smiles  were 
insincere,  and  their  teeth  chattered  with  cold; 
their  eyes,  half-closed  under  their  raw,  throbbing 
eyelids,  remained  glazed  in  terror.  Lashed  to 
the  helm,  like  marble  caryatides,  they  only  moved 
their  numbed  blue  hands,  almost  without  think- 
ing, by  sheer  muscular  habit.  With  their  hair 
streaming  and  mouths  contracted,  they  had  be- 
come changed,  all  the  primitive  wildness  in  man 

75 


In  the  Breton  Land 

appearing  again.  They  could  not  see  one  an- 
other truly,  but  still  were  aware  of  being  com- 
panioned. In  the  instants  of  greatest  danger, 
each  time  that  a  fresh  mountain  of  water  rose 
behind  them,  came  to  overtower  them,  and  crash 
horribly  against  their  boat,  one  of  their  hands 
would  move  as  if  involuntarily,  to  form  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  They  no  more  thought  of  Gaud 
than  of  any  other  woman,  or  any  marrying.  The 
travail  was  lasting  too  long,  and  they  had  no 
thoughts  left.  The  intoxication  of  noise,  cold, 
and  fatigue  drowned  all  in  their  brain.  They 
were  merely  two  pillars  of  stiffened  human  flesh, 
held  up  by  the  helm  ;  two  strong  beasts,  cower- 
ing, but  determined  they  would  not  be  over- 
whelmed. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   PARDONABLE   RUSH 

In  Brittany,  towards  the  end  of  September, 
on  an  already  chilly  day,  Gaud  was  walking  alone 
across  the  common  of  Ploubazlanec,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Pors-Even. 

The  Icelanders  had  returned  a  month  back, 
except  two,  which  had  perished  in  that  June  gale. 

76 


A  Pardonable  Ruse 

But  the  Marie  had  held  her  own,  and  Yann  and 
all  her  crew  were  peacefully  at  home. 

Gaud  felt  very  troubled  at  the  idea  of  going 
to  Yann's  house.  She  had  seen  him  once  since 
the  return  from  Iceland,  when  they  had  all  gone 
together  to  see  poor  little  Sylvestre  off  to  the 
navy.  They  accompanied  him  to  the  coaching- 
house,  he  blubbering  a  little  and  his  grandmother 
weeping,  and  he  had  started  to  join  the  fleet  at 
Brest. 

Yann,  who  had  come  also  to  bid  good-bye  to 
his  little  friend,  had  feigned  to  look  aside  when 
Gaud  looked  at  him,  and  as  there  were  many 
people  round  the  coach  to  see  the  other  sailors 
off,  and  parents  assembled  to  say  good-bye,  the 
pair  had  not  a  chance  to  speak.  So,  at  last,  she 
had  formed  a  strong  resolution,  and  rather  tim- 
idly wended  her  way  towards  the  Gaos's  home. 

Her  father  had  formerly  had  mutual  interests 
with  Yann's  father  (complicated  business,  which, 
with  peasants  and  fishers  alike,  seems  to  be  end- 
less), and  owed  him  a  hundred  francs  for  the 
sale  of  a  boat,  which  had  just  taken  place  in  a 
raffle. 

"  You  ought  to  let  me  carry  the  money  to 
him,  father,"  she  had  said.  **  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  see  Marie  Gaos.     I  never  have  been  so  far  in 

n 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Plpubazlanec,  either,  and  I  shall  enjoy  the  long 
walk." 

To  speak  the  truth,  she  was  curiously  anxious 
to  know  Yann's  family,  which  she  might  some 
day  enter ;  and  she  also  wanted  to  see  the  house 
and  village. 

In  one  of  their  last  chats,  before  his  departure, 
Sylvestre  had  explained  to  her,  in  his  own  way, 
his  friend's  shyness. 

"D'ye  see,  Gaud,  he's  like  this,  he  won't 
marry  anybody,  that's  his  idea ;  he  only  loves  the 
sea,  and  one  day  even,  in  fun,  he  said  he  had 
promised  to  be  wedded  to  it." 

Whereupon,  she  forgave  him  all  his  peculiar 
ways,  and  remembered  only  his  beautiful  open 
smile  on  the  night  of  the  ball,  and  she  hoped  on 
and  on. 

If  she  were  to  meet  him  in  his  home,  of 
course  she  would  say  nothing ;  she  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  so  bold.  But  if  he  saw  her  closely 
again,  perhaps  he  might  speak. 


78 


Of  Sinister  Portent 

CHAPTER   III 

OF   SINISTER    PORTENT 

She  had  been  walking  for  the  last  hour,  lightly 
yet  oppressed,  inhaling  the  healthy  open  breeze 
whistling  up  the  roads  to  where  they  crossed  and 
Calvaires  were  erected,  ghastly  highway  orna- 
ments of  our  Saviour  on  His  cross,  to  which 
Bretons  are  given. 

From  time  to  time  she  passed  through  small 
fishing  villages,  which  are  beaten  about  by  the 
winds  the  whole  year  through  till  of  the  colour 
of  the  rocks.  In  one  of  these  hamlets,  where 
the  path  narrows  suddenly  between  dark  walls, 
and  between  the  whitewashed  roofs,  high  and 
pointed  like  Celtic  huts,  a  tavern  sign-board  made 
her  smile.  It  was  "  The  Chinese  Cider  Cellars." 
On  it  were  painted  two  grotesque  figures,  dressed 
in  green  and  pink  robes,  with  pigtails,  drinking 
cider.  No  doubt  the  whim  of  some  old  sailor 
who  had  been  in  China.  She  saw  all  on  her  way  ; 
people  who  are  greatly  engrossed  in  the  object 
of  a  journey  always  find  more  amusement  than 
others  in  its  thousand  details. 

The  tiny  village  was  far  behind  her  now,  and 
as  she  advanced  in  this  last  promontory  of  the 

79 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Breton  land,  the  trees  around  her  became  more 
scarce,  and  the  country  more  mournful. 

The  ground  was  undulating  and  rocky,  and 
from  all  the  heights  the  open  sea  could  be  seen. 
No  more  trees  now  ;  nothing  but  the  shorn  heaths 
with  their  green  reeds,  and  here  and  there  the 
consecrated  crosses  rose,  their  outstretched  arms 
outlined  against  the  sky,  giving  the  whole  country 
the  aspect  of  a  cemetery. 

At  one  of  the  cross-ways,  guarded  by  a  colossal 
image  of  Christ,  she  hesitated  between  two  roads 
running  among  thorny  slopes. 

A  child  happening  to  pass,  came  to  her  rescue  : 
**  Good-day,  Mademoiselle  Gaud  ! " 

It  was  one  of  the  little  Gaoses,  one  of  Yann*s 
wee  sisters.  Gaud  kissed  her  and  asked  her  if 
her  parents  were  at  home. 

"Father  and  mother  are,  yes.  But  brother 
Yann,"  said  the  little  one,  without  intent,  of 
course,  "  has  gone  to  Loguivy  ;  but  I  don't  think 
he'll  be  very  late  home  again." 

So  he  was  not  there?  Again  destiny  was 
between  them,  everywhere  and  always.  She 
thought  at  first  of  putting  off  her  visit  to  an- 
other day.  But  the  little  lass  who  had  met  her 
might    mention    the   fact.      What    would    they 

think   at    Pors-Even?     So   she   decided   to   go 

80 


of  Sinister  Portent 

on,  but  loitering  so  as  to  give  Yann  time  to  re- 
turn. 

As  she  neared  his  village,  in  this  lost  country, 
all  things  seemed  rougher  and  more  desolate.  Sea 
breezes  that  made  men  stronger,  made  shorter 
and  more  stubbly  plants.  Seaweeds  of  all  kinds 
were  scattered  over  the  paths,  leaves  from  growths 
in  another  element,  proving  the  existence  of  a 
neighbouring  world ;  their  briny  odour  mingled 
with  the  perfume  of  the  heather. 

Now  and  again  Gaud  met  passers-by,  sea-folk, 
who  could  be  seen  a  long  way  off,  over  the  bare 
country,  outlined  and  magnified  against  the  high 
sea-line.  Pilots  or  fishers,  seeming  to  watch  the 
great  sea,  in  passing  her  wished  her  good-day. 
Broad  sun-burnt  faces  were  theirs,  manly  and  de- 
termined under  their  easy  caps. 

Time  did  not  go  quickly  enough,  and  she 
really  did  not  know  what  to  do  to  lengthen  the 
way  ;  these  people  seemed  surprised  at  seeing  her 
walk  so  slowly.  ^ 

What  could  Yann  be  doing  a^^oguivy? 
Courting  the  girls,  perhaps.  ^ 

Ah  !  if  she  only  had  known  how  little  he 
troubled  his  head  about  them  !  He  had  simply 
gone  to  Loguivy  to  give  an  order  to  a  basket- 
maker,  who  was  the  only  one  in  the  country 

8i 


In  the  Breton  Land 

knowing  how  to  weave  lobster  pots.  His  mind 
was  very  free  from  love  just  now. 

She  passed  a  chapel,  at  such  a  height  it  could 
be  seen  remotely.  It  was  a  little  gray  old  chapel 
in  the  midst  of  the  barren.  A  clump  of  trees, 
gray  too,  and  almost  leafless,  seemed  like  hair  to 
it,  pushed  by  some  invisible  hand  all  on  one  side. 

It  was  that  same  hand  that  ha4  wrecked  tlie 
fishers*  boats,  the  eternal  hand  of  the  western 
winds,  and  had  twisted  all  the  branches  of  the 
coast  trees  in  the  direction  of  the  waves  and  of 
the  off-sea  breezes.  The  old  trees  had  grown 
awry  and  dishevelled,  bending  their  backs  under 
the  time-honoured  strength  of  that  hand. 

Gaud  was  almost  at  the  end  of  her  walk,  as 
the  chapel  in  sight  was  that  of  Pors-Even ;  so 
she  stopped  there  to  win  a  little  more  time. 

A  petty  mouldering  wall  ran  round  an  enclos- 
ure containing  tombstones.  Everthing  was  of  the 
same  colour,  chapel,  trees,  and  graves ;  the  whole 
spot  seemed  faded  and  eaten  into  by  the  sea-wind  ; 
the  stones,  the  knotty  branches,  and  the  granite 
saints,  placed  in  the  wall  niches,  were  covered  by 
the  same  grayish  lichen,  splashed  pale  yellow. 

On  one  of  the  wooden  crosses  this  name  was 
written  in  large  letters  : 

"  Gaos.— Gaos,  Joel,  8o  years." 
82 


of  Sinister  Portent 

Yes,  this  was  the  old  grandfather — she  knew 
that — for  the  sea  had  not  wanted  this  old  sailor. 
And  many  of  Yann's  relatives,  besides,  slept 
here;  it  was  only  natural,  and  she  might  have 
expected  it;  nevertheless,  the  name  upon  the 
tomb  had  made  a  sad  impression. 

To  waste  a  little  more  time,  she  entered  to 
say  a  prayer  under  the  old  cramped  porch,  worn 
away  and  daubed  over  with  whitewash.  But  she 
stopped  again  with  a  sharp  pain  at  her  heart. 
*'Gaos" — again  that  name,  engraved  upon  one 
of  the  slabs  erected  in  memory  of  those  who  die 
at  sea. 

She  read  this  inscription  : 

*•  To  the  Memory  of 

Gaos,  JEAN-LOUIS, 

Aged  24  years ;  seaman  on  board  the  Marguerite, 

Disappeared  oif  Iceland,  August  3d,  1877. 

May  he  rest  in  peace  /  " 

Iceland — always  Iceland  !  All  over  the  porch 
were  wooden  slabs  bearing  the  names  of  dead 
sailors.  It  was  the  place  reserved  for  the 
shipwrecked  of  Pors-Even.  Filled  with  a 
dark  foreboding  she  was  sorry  to  have  gone 
there. 

In  Paimpol  church  she  had  seen  many  such 
inscriptions ;  but  in  this  village  the  empty  tomb 

83 


In  the  Breton  Land 

of  the  Iceland  fishers  seemed  more  sad  because 
so  lone  and  humble.  On  each  side  of  the  door- 
way was  a  granite  seat  for  the  widows  and  moth- 
ers ;  and  this  shady  spot,  irregularly  shaped  like 
a  grotto,  was  guarded  by  an  old  image  of  the 
Virgin,  coloured  red,  with  large,  staring  eyes, 
looking  most  like  Cybele — the  first  goddess  of 
the  earth. 

"Gaos!"     Again! 

"  To  the  Memory  of 

Gaos,  Francois, 

Husband  of  Anne-Marie  le  Coaster, 

Captain  on  board  the  Paimpolais, 

Lost  off  Iceland,  between  the  ist  and  3d  of  May,  1877, 

With  the  twenty-three  men  of  his  crew. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  /  " 

And,  lower  down,  were  two  cross-bones  under 
a  black  skull  with  green  eyes,  a  simple  but  ghastly 
emblem,  reminding  one  of  all  the  barbarism  of  a 
bygone  age. 

"  Gaos,  Gaos  ! "  The  name  was  everywhere. 
As  she  read,  thrills  of  sweet  tenderness  came  over 
her  for  this  Yann  of  her  choice,  damped  by  a 
feeling  of  hopelessness.  Nay,  he  never  would 
be  hers  !  How  could  she  tear  him  from  the  sea 
where  so  many  other  Gaoses  had  gone  down,  an- 
cestors and  brothers,  who  must  have  loved  the 

84 


Of  Sinister  Portent 

sea  like  he !  She  entered  the  chapel.  It  was 
almost  dark,  badly  lit  by  low  windows  with  heavy 
frames.  And  there,  her  heart  full  of  tears  that 
would  better  have  fallen,  she  knelt  to  pray  before 
the  colossal  saints,  surrounded  by  common  flow- 
ers, touching  the  vaulted  roof  with  their  massive 
heads.  Outside,  the  rising  wind  began  to  sob  as 
if  it  brought  the  death-gasps  of  the  drowned  men 
back  to  their  Fatherland. 

Night  drew  near ;  she  rose  and  went  on  her 
way.  After  having  asked  in  the  village,  she 
found  the  home  of  the  Gaos  family,  which  was 
built  up  against  a  high  cliff.  A  dozen  granite 
steps  led  up  to  it.  Trembling  a  little  at  the 
thought  that  Yann  might  have  returned,  she 
crossed  the  small  garden  where  chrysanthemums 
and  veronicas  grew. 

When  she  was  indoors,  she  explained  she  had 
come  to  bring  the  money  for  the  boat,  and  they 
very  politely  asked  her  to  sit  down,  to  await  the 
father's  return,  as  he  was  the  one  to  sign  the  re- 
ceipt for  her.  Amidst  all,  her  eyes  searched  for 
Yann — but  did  not  see  him. 

They  were  very  busy  in  the  home.  Already 
they  were  cutting  out  the  new  waterproof  cloth 
on  the  clean  white  table,  and  getting  it  ready  for 
the  approaching  Iceland  season. 

85 


In  the  Breton  Land 

**  You  see,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  it's  like  this : 
every  man  wants  two  new  suits." 

They  explained  to  her  how  they  set  to  work 
to  make  them,  and  to  render  their  seams  water- 
proof with  tar,  for  they  were  for  wet  weather 
wear.  And  while  they  worked.  Gaud  looked  at- 
tentively around  the  home  of  these  Gaoses. 

It  was  furnished  after  the  traditional  manner 
of  all  Breton  cottages ;  an  immense  chimney- 
place  took  up  one  whole  end,  and  on  the  sides 
of  the  walls  the  Breton  beds,  bunks,  as  on  ship- 
board, were  placed  one  above  another.  But  it 
was  not  so  sombre  and  sad  as  the  cabins  of  other 
peasants,  which  are  generally  half-hidden  by  the 
wayside  ;  it  was  all  fresh  and  clean,  as  the  homes 
of  seamen  usually  are.  Several  little  Gaoses  were 
there,  girls  and  boys,  all  sisters  and  brothers  of 
Yann  ;  without  counting  two  big  ones,  who  were 
already  out  at  sea.  And,  besides,  there  was  a 
little  fair  girl,  neat,  but  sad,  unlike  the  others. 

"We  adopted  her  last  year,"  explained  the 

mother ;  **  we  had  enough  children  as  it  was,  of 

course,  but  what  else  could  we  do.  Mademoiselle 

Gaud,  for  her  daddy  belonged  to  the  Maria-Dieu- 

faime,  lost  last  season  off  Iceland,  as  you  know ; 

so  the  neighbours  divided  the  little  ones  between 

them,  and  this  one  fell  to  our  lot." 

2.6 


of  Sinister  Portent 

Hearing  herself  spoken  of,  the  adopted  child 
hung  her  pretty  head  and  smiled,  hiding  herself 
behind  little  Laumec  Gaos,  her  favourite. 

There  was  a  look  of  comfort  all  over  the 
place,  and  radiant  health  bloomed  on  all  the  chil- 
dren's rosy  cheeks. 

They  received  Gaud  very  profusely,  like  a 
great  lady  whose  visit  was  an  honour  to  the  fam- 
ily. She  was  taken  upstairs,  up  a  newly-built 
wooden  staircase,  to  see  the  room  above,  which 
was  the  glory  of  the  home.  She  remembered 
the  history  of  its  construction  ;  it  was  after  the 
finding  of  a  derelict  vessel  in  the  Channel,  which 
luck  had  befallen  Yann*s  father  and  his  cousin 
the  pilot. 

The  room  was  very  gay  and  pretty  in  its 
whiteness ;  there  were  two  town  beds  in  it,  with 
pink  chintz  curtains,  and  a  large  table  in  the 
middle.  Through  the  window  the  whole  of 
Paimpol  could  be  seen,  with  the  Icelanders  at 
anchor  off  shore,  and  the  channel  through  which 
they  passed. 

She  did  not  dare  question,  but  she  would 
have  liked  to  have  known  where  Yann  slept ; 
probably  as  a  child  he  had  slept  downstairs  in 
one  of  the  antique  cupboard-beds.  But  perhaps 
now  he  slept  under  those  pink  draperies.     She 

8; 


In  the  Breton  Land 

would  have  loved  to  have  known  all  the  details 
of  his  life,  especially  what  he  did  in  the  long 
winter  evenings. 

A  heavy  footstep  on  the  stairs  made  her 
tremble.  But  it  was  not  Yann,  though  a  man 
much  like  him  ;  notwithstanding  his  white  hair, 
as  tall  and  as  straight.  It  was  old  father  Gaos 
returning  from  fishing. 

After  he  had  saluted  her  and  asked  her  thf 
object  of  her  visit,  he  signed  her  receipt  for  her 
which  was  rather  a  long  operation,  as  his  hand 
was  not  very  steady,  he  explained. 

But  he  would  not  accept  the  hundred  francs 
as  a  final  payment,  but  only  as  an  instalment ; 
he  would  speak  to  M.  M^vel  again  about  it 
Whereupon  Gaud,  to  whom  money  was  nothing, 
smiled  imperceptibly ;  she  had  fancied  the  busi- 
ness was  not  quite  terminated,  and  this  just 
suited  her. 

They  made  something  like  excuses  for  Yann*s 
absence ;  as  if  they  found  it  more  orthodox  for 
the  whole  family  to  assemble  to  receive  her.  Per- 
haps the  father  had  guessed,  with  the  shrewdness 
of  an  old  salt,  that  his  son  was  not  indifferent  to 
this  beautiful  heiress  ;  for  he  rather  insisted  upon 
talking  about  him. 

"  It's  very  queer,"  said  he,  **  the  boy's  never 
88 


of  Sinister  Portent 

so  late  out.  He  went  over  to  Loguivy,  Mad- 
emoiselle Gaud,  to  buy  some  lobster  baskets ;  as 
you  know,  lobster-catching  is  our  main  winter 
fishery." 

She  dreamily  lengthened  out  her  call,  al- 
though conscious  that  it  was  too  long  already, 
and  feeling  a  tug  at  her  heart  at  the  idea  that 
she  would  not  see  him  after  all. 

"  A  well-conducted  young  man  like  Yann — 
what  can  he  be  doing  ?  Surely  he's  not  at  the 
inn.  We  don't  fear  that  for  our  lad.  I  don't 
say  that  now  and  then,  of  a  Sunday,  with  his 

mates You  know,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  what 

them  sailors  are.  Eh  !  ye  know,  he's  but  a  young 
chap,  and  must  have  some  liberty  now  and  again. 
But  it's  very  rare  with  him  to  break  out,  for  he's 
a  straight-goer ;  we  can  say  that." 

vBut  night  was  falling,  and  the  work  had  been 
folded  up.  The  little  ones  on  the  benches  around 
drew  closer  to  one  another,  saddened  by  the  grey 
dismal  gloaming,  and  eyed  Gaud  hard,  seeming 
to  say — 

"  Why  doesn't  she  go  now  ?  " 

On  the  hearth,  the  flames  burned  redder  in 
the  midst  of  the  falling  shadows. 

"  You  ought  to  stay  and  have  a  bit  o'  supper 
with  us.  Mademoiselle  Gaud," 

89 


In  the  Breton  Land 

"  Oh,  no  I  I  couldn^t  think  of  it ! "  The  blood 
rushed  to  her  face  at  the  idea  of  having  remained 
so  late.     She  got  up  and  took  her  leave. 

Yann's  father  also  rose  to  accompany  her  part 
of  the  way,  anyhow  as  far  as  a  lonely  nook  where 
the  old  trees  make  a  dark  lane. 

As  they  walked  along  together,  she  felt  a  sud- 
den sympathy  of  respect  and  tenderness  towards 
him  ;  she  would  have  liked  to  have  spoken  as  to 
a  father  in  the  sudden  gushes  of  feeling  that  came 
over  her ;  but  the  words  were  stifled  in  her  throat, 
and  she  said  not  a  word. 

And  so  they  went  their  way,  in  the  cold  even- 
ing wind,  full  of  the  odour  of  the  sea,  passing  here 
and  there,  on  the  barren  heath,  some  poor  hovels, 
where  beach-combers  dwelt  and  had  already  sealed 
themselves  up  for  the  night ;  dark  and  neglected 
they  looked  under  the  weather-beaten  roofs ;  these 
crosses,  clumps  of  reeds,  and  boulders  they  left 
behind. 

What  a  great  way  off  Pors-Even  was,  and 
what  a  time  she  had  remained ! 

Now  and  then  they  met  folks  returning  from 

Paimpol  or  Loguivy;   and  as  she  watched  the 

shadows  approach,  each  time  she  thought  it  was 

Yann-;  but  it  was  easy  to  recognise  him  at  a  good 

distance  off,  and  so  she  was  quickly  undeceived. 

90 


His  Reluctance 

Every  moment  her  feet  caught  in  the  brown 
trailing  plants,  tangled  like  hair,  which  were  sea- 
weeds littering  the  pathway. 

At  the  Cross  of  Plouezoc'h  she  bade  good- 
bye to  the  old  man,  and  begged  him  to  return. 
The  lights  of  Paimpol  were  already  in  view,  and 
there  was  no  more  occasion  to  be  afraid. 

So  hope  was  over  for  this  time.  Who  could 
tell  her  when  she  might  see  Yann  again  ? 

An  excuse  to  return  to  Pors-Even  would 
have  been  easy ;  but  it  would  really  look  too  bad 
to  begin  her  quest  all  over  again.  She  would 
have  to  be  braver  and  prouder  than  that.  If  only 
her  little  confidant  Sylvestre  had  been  there,  she 
might  have  asked  him  to  go  and  fetch  Yann,  so 
that  there  could  be  some  explanation.  But  he 
was  gone  now,  and  for  how  many  years  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

HIS   RELUCTANCE 

"Me  get  married  ?"  said  Yann  to  his  parents 
that  same  evening.  "Me  get  married?  Good 
heavens,  why  should  I  ?  Shall  I  ever  be  as  happy 
as  here  with  ye  ?  no  troubles,  no  tiffs  with  any 
one,  and  warm  soup  ready  for  me  every  night 

91 


In  the  Breton  Land 

when  I  come  home  from  sea.  Oh !  I  quite  un- 
derstand that  you  mean  the  girl  that  came  here 
to-day,  but  what's  such  a  rich  girl  got  to  do  with 
us  ?  Tisn't  clear  to  my  thinking.  And  it'll  be 
neither  her,  nor  any  other.  It's  all  settled,  I 
won't  marry — it  ain't  to  my  liking." 

The  two  old  Gaoses  looked  at  one  another 
in  silence,  deeply  disappointed,  for,  after  having 
talked  it  over  together,  they  were  pretty  well 
sure  that  this  young  lady  would  not  refuse  their 
handsome  Yann.  But  they  did  not  try  to  argue, 
knowing  how  useless  that  would  be.  The  mother 
lowered  her  head,  and  said  no  more  ;  she  respected 
the  will  of  this  son,  her  eldest  bom,  who  was  all 
but  the  head  of  the  family  ;  although  he  was  al- 
ways tender  and  gentle  with  her,  more  obedient 
than  a  child  in  the  petty  things  of  life,  he  long 
ago  had  been  her  absolute  master  for  the  great 
ones,  eluding  all  restraint  with  a  quiet  though 
savage  independence.  He  never  sat  up  late, 
being  in  the  habit,  like  other  fishermen,  of  rising 
before  break  of  day.  And  after  supper  at  eight 
o'clock,  he  had  given  another  satisfactory  look  to 
his  baskets  and  new  nets  from  Loguivy,  and  be- 
gan to  undress — calm  to  all  appearances,  and  went 
up  to  sleep  in  the  pink-curtained  bed,  which  he 

shared  with  his  little  brother  Laumec, 

92 


Sailors  at  the  Play 
CHAPTER  V 

SAILORS   AT   THE   PLAY 

j  OR  the  last  fortnight  Gaud's  little  confidant, 
Sylvestre,  had  been  quartered  in  Brest ;  very 
much  out  of  his  element,  but  very  quiet  and 
obedient  to  discipline.  He  wore  his  open  blue 
sailor-collar  and  red-balled,  flat,  woollen  cap, 
with  a  frank,  fearless  look,  and  was  noble  and 
dignified  in  his  sailor  garb,  with  his  free  step  and 
tall  figure,  but  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  was 
still  the  same  innocent  boy  as  ever,  and  thinking 
of  his  dear  old  grandam. 

One  evening  he  had  got  tipsy  together  with 
some  lads  from  his  parts,  simply  because  it  is  the 
custom  ;  and  they  had  all  returned  to  the  bar- 
racks together  arm-in-arm,  singing  out  as  lustily 
as  they  could. 

And  one  Sunday,  too,  they  had  all  gone  to 
the  theatre,  in  the  upper  galleries.  A  melodrama 
was  being  played,  and  the  sailors,  exasperated 
against  the  villain,  greeted  him  with  a  howl, 
which  they  all  roared  together,  like  a  blast  of 
the  Atlantic  cyclones. 


93 


In  the  Breton  Land 
CHAPTER  VI 

ORDERED   ON    FOREIGN   SERVICE 

One  day  Sylvestre  was  summoned  before  the 
officer  of  his  company;  and  they  told  him  he 
was  among  those  ordered  out  to  China — in  the 
squadron  for  Formosa.  He  had  been  pretty 
well  expecting  it  for  some  time,  as  he  had  heard 
those  who  read  the  papers  say  that  out  there  the 
war  seemed  never-ending. 

And  because  of  the  urgency  of  the  departure, 
he  was  informed  at  the  same  time  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  have  the  customary  leave  for  his 
home  farewells ;  in  five  days'  time  he  would  have 
to  pack  up  and  be  off. 

Then  a  bitter  pain  came  over  him ;  though 
charmed  at  the  idea  of  far-oif  travels  amid  the 
unknown  and  of  the  war.  There  also  was  agony 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  all  he  knew  and  loved, 
with  the  vague  apprehension  that  he  might  never 
more  return. 

A  thousand  noises  rang  in  his  head.  Around 
was  the  bustle  of  the  barrack-rooms,  where  hun- 
dreds of  others  were  called  up,  like  himself, 
chosen  for  the  Chinese  squadron.  And  rapidly 
he  wrote  to  his  old  grandmother,  with  a  stump 

94 


Moan's  Sweetheart 

of  pencil,  crouching  on  the  floor,  alone  in  his 
own  feverish  dream,  though  in  the  thick  of  the 
continual  hurry  and  hubbub  amidst  all  the  young 
sailors  hurried  away  like  himself. 


CHAPTER  VII 
moan's  sweetheart 

"His  sweetheart's  a  trifle  old!"  said  the 
others,  a  couple  of  days  later,  as  they  laughed 
after  Sylvestre  and  his  grandmother,  *'but  they 
seem  to  get  on  fine  together  all  the  same." 

It  amused  them  to  see  the  boy,  for  the  first 
time,  walk  through  the  streets  of  Recouvrance, 
with  a  woman  at  his  side,  like  the  rest  of  them ; 
and,  bending  towards  her  with  a  tender  look, 
whisper  what  seemed  to  be  very  soft  nothings. 

She  was  a  very  quick,  diminutive  person  seen 
from  behind,  with  rather  short  skirts  for  the 
fashion  of  the  day ;  and  a  scanty  brown  shawl, 
and  a  high  Paimpol  coiffe.  She,  too,  hanging  on 
his  arm,  turned  towards  him  with  an  affectionate 
glance. 

*•  A  trifle  old  was  his  sweetheart ! " 

That's  what  the  others  called  after  him,  we 
say,  but  without  spite,  for  any  ooe  could  see  that 

VOL.  20  9$  Romances  6 


In  the  Breton  Land 

she  was  his  old  granny,  come  up  from  the  country. 
She  had  come,  too,  in  a  hurry,  suddenly  terrified 
at  the  news  of  his  sudden  departure;  for  this 
Chinese  war  had  already  cost  Paimpol  many 
sailors.  So  she  had  scraped  together  all  her 
poor  little  savings,  put«  her  best  Sunday  dress 
and  a  fresh  clean  coiffe  in  a  box,  and  had  set  out 
to  kiss  him  once  again. 

She  had  gone  straight  to  the  barracks  to  ask 
for  him  ;  at  first  his  adjutant  had  refused  to  let 
him  go  out. 

.  "  If  youVe  anything  to  say,  my  good  woman, 
go  and  speak  to  the  captain  yourself.  There  he 
is,  passing." 

So  she  calmly  walked  up  to  him,  and  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  won  over. 

**  Send  Moan  to  change  his  clothes,  to  go 
out,"  said  he. 

All  in  hot  haste  Moan  had  gone  to  rig  up  in 
his  best  attire,  while  the  good  old  lady,  to  make 
him  laugh,  of  course,  made  a  most  inimitably 
droll  face  and  a  mock  curtsey  at  the  adjutant 
behind  his  back. 

But  when  the  grandson  appeared  in  his  full 

uniform,  with  the  inevitable  turned-down  collar, 

leaving  his  throat  bare,  she  was  quite  struck  with 

his  beauty ;  his  black  beard  was  cut  into  a  sea- 

96 


Moan's  Sweetheart 

manly  fashionable  point  by  the  barber,  and  his 
cap  was  decked  out  with  long  floating  ribbons, 
with  a  golden  anchor  at  each  end.  For  the 
moment  she  almost  saw  in  him  her  son  Pierre, 
who,  twenty  years  before,  had  also  been  a  sailor 
in  the  navy,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  far  past, 
with  all  its  dead,  stealthily  shadowed  the  present 
hour. 

But  the  sadness  soon  passed  away.  Arm-in- 
arm they  strolled  on,  happy  to  be  together ;  and 
it  was  then  that  the  others  had  pretended  to  see 
in  her  his  sweetheart,  and  voted  her  "a  trifle 
old." 

She  had  taken  him,  for  a  treat,  to  dine  in  an 
inn  kept  by  some  people  from  Paimpol,  which 
had  been  recommended  to  her  as  rather  cheap. 
And  then,  still  arm-in-arm,  they  had  sauntered 
through  Brest,  looking  at  the  shop-windows. 
There  never  were  such  funny  stories  told  as 
those  she  told  her  grandson  to  make  him  laugh ; 
of  course  all  in  Paimpol  Breton,  so  that  the  pass* 
ers-by  might  not  understand. 


97 


In  the  Breton  Land 

CHAPTER  VIII 

OLD    AND    YOUNG 

She  stayed  three  days  with  him,  three  happy 
days,  though  over  them  hung  a  dark  and  ominous 
forecast ;  one  might  as  well  call  them  three  days 
of  respite. 

-At  last  she  was  forced  to  return  to  Ploubaz- 
lanec,  for  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  little 
savings,  and  Sylvestre  was  to  embark  the  day 
afterward.  The  sailors  are  always  inexorably 
kept  in  barracks  the  day  before  foreign  cruises 
(a  custom  that  seems  rather  barbarous  at  first, 
but  which  is  a  necessary  precaution  against  the 
"  flings "  they  would  have  before  leaving  defi- 
nitely). 

Oh,  that  last  day !  She  had  done  her  very 
best  to  hatch  up  some  more  funny  stories  in  her 
head,  to  tell  her  boy  just  at  the  parting,  but  she 
had  remembered  nothing — no ;  only  tears  had 
welled  up,  and  at  every  moment  sobs  choked  her. 
Hanging  on  his  arm,  she  reminded  him  of  a 
thousand  things  he  was  not  to  forget  to  do,  and 
he  also  tried  hard  to  repress  his  tears.  They 
had  ended  by  going  into  a  church  to  say  their 
prayers  together. 

98 


Old  and  Young 

It  was  by  the  night  train  that  she  went.  To 
save  a  few  pence,  they  had  gone  on  foot  to  the 
station  ;  he  carrying  her  box,  and  holding  her  on 
his  strong  arm,  upon  which  she  weighed  heavily. 

She  was  so  very,  very  tired — poor  old  lady ! 
She  had  scarcely  any  strength  left  after  the  ex- 
ertion of  the  last  three  or  four  days.  Her  shoul- 
ders were  bent  under  her  brown  shawl,  and  she 
had  no  force  to  bear  herself  up  ;  her  youngish 
look  was  gone,  and  she  felt  the  weight  of  her 
seventy-six  years. 

Oh  !  how  her  heart  ached  at  the  thought  that 
it  was  all  over,  and  that  in  a  few  moments  she 
must  leave  him !  Was  he  really  to  go  out  so 
far,  to  China,  perhaps  to  slaughter.  She  still 
had  him  there  with  her,  quite  close,  her  poor 
hands  could  yet  grasp  him — and  yet  he  must  go ; 
all  the  strength  of  her  will,  all  her  tears,  and  all 
her  great  heartrending  despair — all !  would  noth- 
ing be  of  avail  to  keep  him  back  ? 

With  her  ticket,  and  her  lunch-basket,  and 
her  mittens  in  her  grasp,  agitated,  she  gave  him 
her  last  blessing  and  advice,  and  he  answered  her 
with  an  obedient  "Ay,  ay,"  bending  his  head 
tenderly  towards  her  and  gazing  lovingly  at  her, 
in  his  soft  childish  way. 

**Now  then,  old  lady,  you  must  make  up 
99 


In  the  Breton  Land 

your  mind  plaguey  quick  if  you  want  to  go  by 
this  train  ! " 

The  engine  whistled.  Suddenly  terrified  at 
the  idea  of  losing  the  train,  she  tore  her  box 
from  Sylvestre's  grasp,  and  flinging  it  down, 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  in  a  last  and  su- 
preme embrace. 

Many  people  on  the  platform  stared  at  them, 
but  not  one  smiled.  Hustled  about  by  the  por- 
ters, worn  out  and  full  of  pain,  she  pressed  into 
the  first  carriage  near;  the  door  was  banged 
quickly  upon  her,  while  Sylvestre,  with  all  the 
speed  of  a  young  sailor,  rushed  out  of  the  station 
to  the  rails  beside  the  line  to  see  the  train  pass. 

A  shrill  screeching  whistle,  a  noisy  grinding 
of  the  wheels,  and  his  grandmother  passed  away, 
leaving  him  leaning  against  the  gate  and  swing- 
ing up  his  cap  with  its  flying  ribbons,  while  she, 
hanging  out  of  the  window  of  her  third-class  car- 
riage, made  an  answering  signal  with  her  hand- 
kerchief ;  and  for  as  long  as  she  could  see  the 
dark  blue-clad  figure,  that  was  her  child,  followed 
him  with  her  eyes,  throwing  her  whole  soul  into 
that  "  good-bye  ! "  kept  back  to  the  last,  and 
always  uncertain  of  realization  when  sailors  are 
concerned. 

Look  lon^  at  your  little  Sylvestre,  poor  old 

100 


The  Eastern  Vojrage 

woman  ;  until  the  very  latest  moment,  do  not 
lose  sight  of  his  fleeting  shadow,  which  is  fading 
away  for  ever. 

When  she  could  see  him  no  longer,  she  fell 
back,  completely  crushing  her  still  clean  unrum- 
pled  cap,  weeping  and  sobbing  in  the  agony  of 
death  itself. 

He  had  turned  away  slowly,  with  his  head 
bent,  and  big  tears  falling  down  his  cheeks.  The 
autumn  night  had  closed  in  ;  everywhere  the  gas 
was  flaring,  and  the  sailors'  riotous  feasts  had  be- 
gun anew.  Paying  no  heed  to  anything  about 
him,  he  passed  through  Brest  and  over  the  Re- 
couvrance  Bridge,  to  the  barracks. 

"  Whist !  here,  you  darling  boy  !  "  called  out 
some  nocturnal  prowlers  to  him  ;  but  he  passed 
on,  and  entering  the  barracks,  flung  himself 
down  in  his  hammock,  weeping,  all  alone,  and 
hardly  sleeping  until  dawn. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    EASTERN    VOYAGE 

Sylvestre  was  soon  out  on  the  ocean,  rapidly 
whisked  away  over  the  unknown  seas,  far  more 
blue  than  Iceland's.     The  ship  that  carried  him 

lOI 


In  the  Breton  Land 

off  to  the  confines  of  Asia  was  ordered  to  go  at 
full  speed  and  stop  nowhere.  Ere  long  he  felt 
that  he  was  far  away,  for  the  speed  was  unceasing, 
and  even  without  a  care  for  the  sea  or  the  wind. 
As  he  was  a  topman,  he  lived  perched  aloft,  like 
a  bird,  avoiding  the  soldiers  crowded  upon  the 
deck. 

Twice  they  stopped,  however,  on  the  coast  of 
Tunis,  to  take  up  more  Zouaves  and  mules ; 
from  afar  he  had  perceived  the  white  cities  amid 
sands  and  arid  hills.  He  had  even  come  down 
from  his  top  to  look  at  the  dark-brown  men 
draped  in  their  white  robes  who  came  off  in 
small  boats  to  peddle  fruit ;  his  mates  told  him 
that  these  were  Bedouins. 

The  heat  and  the  sun,  which  were  unlessened 
by  the  autumn  season,  made  him  feel  out  of  his 
element 

One  day  they  touched  at  Port  Said.  All  the 
flags  of  Europe  waved  overhead  from  long  staves, 
which  gave  it  an  aspect  of  Babel  on  a  feast-day, 
and  the  glistening  sands  surrounded  the  town 
like  a  moving  sea. 

They  had  stopped  there,  touching  the  quays, 
almost  in  the  midst  of  the  long  streets  full  of 
wooden  shanties.  Since  his  departure,  Sylvestre 
never  had  seen  the  outside  world  so  closely,  and 

102 


The  Eastern  Voyage 

the  movement  and  numbers  of  boats  excited  and 
amused  him. 

With  never-ending  screeching  from  their  es- 
cape-pipes, all  these  boats  crowded  up  in  the  long 
canal,  as  narrow  as  a  ditch,  which  wound  itself  in 
a  silvery  line  through  the  infinite  sands.  From 
his  post  on  high  he  could  see  them  as  in  a  pro- 
cession under  a  window,  till  disappearing  in  the 
plain. 

On  the  canal  all  kinds  of  costumes  could  be 
seen ;  men  in  many-coloured  attire,  busy  and 
shouting  like  thunder.  And  at  night  the  clam- 
our of  confused  bands  of  music  mingled  with 
the  diabolical  screams  of  the  locomotives,  play- 
ing noisy  tunes,  as  if  to  drown  the  heart-break- 
ing sorrow  of  the  exiles  who  for  ever  passed 
onward. 

The  next  day,  at  sunrise,  they,  too,  glided 
into  the  narrow  ribbon  of  water  between  the 
sands.  For  two  days  the  steaming  in  the  long 
file  through  the  desert  lasted,  then  another  sea 
opened  before  them,  and  they  were  once  again 
upon  the  open.  They  still  ran  at  full  speed 
through  this  warmer  expanse,  stained  like  red 
marble.,  with  their  boiling  wake  like  blood.  Syl- 
vestre  remained  all  the  time  up  in  his  top,  where 
he  would  hum  his  old  song  of  **  Jean-Frangois  de 

103 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Nantes,"  to  remind  him  of  his  dear  brother  Yann, 
of  Iceland,  and  the  good  old  bygone  days. 

Sometimes,  in  the  depths  of  the  shadowy  dis- 
tance, some  wonderfully  tinted  mountain  would 
arise.  Notwithstanding  the  distance  and  the  dim- 
ness around,  the  names  of  those  projected  capes 
of  countries  appeared  as  the  eternal  landmarks 
on  the  great  roadways  of  the  earth  to  the  steers- 
men of  this  vessel ;  but  a  topman  is  carried  on 
like  an  inanimate  thing,  knowing  nothing,  and 
unconscious  of  the  distance  over  the  everlasting, 
endless  waves. 

All  he  felt  was  a  terrible  estrangement  from 
the  things  of  this  world,  which  grew  greater  and 
greater;  and  the  feeling  was  very  defined  and 
exact  as  he  looked  upon  the  seething  foam  be- 
hind, and  tried  to  remember  how  long  had  lasted 
this  pace  that  never  slackened  night  or  day. 
Down  on  deck,  the  crowd  of  men,  huddled 
together  in  the  shadow  of  the  awnings,  panted 
with  weariness.  The  water  and  the  air,  even  the 
very  light  above,  had  a  dull,  crushing  splendour ; 
and  the  fadeless  glory  of  those  elements  were  as 
jSL^my  mockery  of  the  human  beings  whose  phys- 
-ical  lives  are,  so  ephemeral. 

Once,  up  in  his  crow's  nest,  he  was  gladdened 
by  the  sight  of  flocks  of  tiny  birds,  of  an  un- 

104 


The  Eastern  Voyage 

known  species,  which  fell  upon  the  ship  like  a 
whirlwind  of  coal  dust.  They  allowed  themselves 
to  be  taken  and  stroked,  being  worn  out  with 
fatigue.  All  the  sailors  had  them  as  pets  upon 
their  shoulders.  But  soon  the  most  exhausted 
among  them  began  to  die,  and  before  long  they 
died  by  thousands  on  the  rigging,  yards,  ports, 
and  sails — poor  little  things  ! — under  the  blasting 
sun  of  the  Red  Sea.  They  had  come  to  destruc- 
tion, off  the  Great  Desert,  fleeing  before  a  sand- 
storm. And  through  fear  of  falling  into  the  blue 
waters  that  stretched  on  all  sides,  they  had  ended 
their  last  feeble  flight  upon  the  passing  ship. 
Over  yonder,  in  some  distant  region  of  Libya, 
they  had  been  fledged  in  masses.  Indeed,  there 
were  so  many  of  them,  that  their  blind  and  un- 
kind mother,  Nature,  had  driven  away  before 
her  this  surplus,  as  unmoved  as  if  they  had  been 
superabundant  men.  On  the  scorching  funnels 
and  ironwork  of  the  ship  they  died  away  ;  the 
deck  was  strewn  with  their  puny  forms,  only 
yesterday  so  full  of  life,  songs,  and  love.  Now, 
poor  little  black  dots,  Sylvestre  and  the  others 
picked  them  up,  spreading  out  their  delicate  blue 
wings,  with  a  look  of  pity,  and  swept  them  over- 
board into  the  abysmal  sea. 

Next  came  hosts  of  locusts,  the  spawn  of 
105 


In  the  Breton  Land 

those  conjured  up  by  Moses,  and  the  ship  was 
covered  with  them.  At  length,  though,  it  surged 
on  a  lifeless  blue  sea,  where  they  saw  no  things 
around  them,  except  from  time  to  time  the  flying 
fish  skimming  along  the  level  water. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   ORIENT 

Rain  in  torrents,  under  a  heavy  black  sky. 
This  was  India.  Sylvestre  had  just  set  foot  upon 
land,  chance  selecting  him  to  complete  the  crew 
of  a  whale  boat.  He  felt  the  warm  shower  upon 
him  through  the  thick  foliage,  and  looked  around, 
surprised  at  the  novel  sight.  All  was  magnifi- 
cently green  ;  the  leaves  of  the  trees  waved  like 
gigantic  feathers,  and  the  people  walking  beneati: 
them  had  large  velvety  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
close  under  the  weight  of  their  lashes.  The  very 
wind  that  brought  the  rain  had  the  odour  of  musk 
and  flowers. 

At  a  distance,  dusky  girls  beckoned  him  to 
come  to  them.  Some  happy  strain  they  sang, 
like  the  **  Whist !  here,  you  darling  boy  ! "  so  often 
heard  at  Brest.  But  seductive  as  was  their  coun- 
try, their  call  was  imperious  and  exasperating, 

io6 


The  Orient 

making  his  very  flesh  shudder.  Their  perfect 
bosoms  rose  and  fell  under  transparent  muslin, 
in  which  they  were  solely  draped;  they  were 
glowing  and  polished  as  in  bronze  statues.  Hesi- 
tating, fascinated  by  them,  he  wavered  about,  fol- 
lowing them ;  but  the  boatswain's  sharp  shrill 
whistle  rent  the  air  with  bird-like  trills,  sum- 
moning him  hurriedly  back  to  his  boat,  about 
to  push  off. 

He  took  his  flight,  and  bade  farewell  to  India's 
beauties. 

After  a  second  week  of  the  blue  sea,  they 
paused  off  another  land  of  dewy  verdure.  A 
crowd  of  yellow  men  appeared,  yelling  out  and 
pressing  on  deck,  bringing  coal  in  baskets. 

"Already  in  China?"  asked  Sylvestre,  at  the 
aght  of  these  grotesque  figures  in  p?gtails. 

"Bless  you,  no,  not  yet,"  they  told  him; 
"  have  a  little  more  patience." 

It  was  only  Singapore.  He  went  up  into  his 
mast-top  again,  to  avoid  the  black  dust  tossed 
about  by  the  breeze,  while  the  coal  was  fever- 
ishly heaped  up  in  the  bunkers  from  little 
baskets. 

One  day,  at  length,  they  arrived  off  a  land 

called  Tourane,  where  the  Circe  was  anchored, 

to  blockade  the  port.   This  was  the  ship  to  which 

107 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Sylvestre  had  been  long  ago  assigned,  and  he  was 
left  there  with  his  bag. 

On  board  he  met  with  two  mates  from  home, 
Icelanders,  who  were  captains  of  guns  for  the 
time  being.  Through  the  long,  hot,  still  even- 
ings, when  there  was  no  work  to  be  done,  they 
clustered  on  deck  apart  from  the  others,  to  form 
together  a  little  Brittany  of  remembrances. 

Five  months  he  passed  there  in  inaction  and 
exile,  locked  up  in  the  cheerless  bay,  with  the 
feverish  desire  to  go  out  and  fight  and  slay,  for 
change's  sake. 

CHAPTER  XI 

A  CURIOUS   RENCONTRE 

In  Paimpol  again,  on  the  last  day  of  Feb- 
ruary, before  the  setting-out  for  Iceland.  Gaud 
was  standing  up  against  her  room  door,  pale  and 
still.  For  Yann  was  below,  chatting  to  her 
father.  She  had  seen  him  come  in,  and  indis- 
tinctly heard  his  voice. 

All  through  the  winter  they  never  had  met, 
as  if  some  invincible  fate  always  had  kept  them 
apart. 

After  the  failure  to  find  him  in  her  walk  to 
Pors-Even,  she   had  placed  some  hope  on  the 

io8 


A  Curious  Rencontre 

Pardon  des  Islandais  where  there  would  be  many 
chances  for  them  to  see  and  talk  to  one  an- 
other, in  the  market-place  at  dusk,  among  the 
crowd. 

But  on  the  very  morning  of  the  holiday, 
though  the  streets  were  already  draped  in  white 
and  strewn  with  green  garlands,  a  hard  rain  had 
fallen  in  torrents,  brought  from  the  west  by  a 
soughing  wind ;  never  had  so  black  a  sky  shad- 
owed Paimpol.  *'  What  a  pity !  the  boys  won't 
come  over  from  Ploubazlanec  now,"  had  moaned 
the  lasses,  whose  sweethearts  dwelt  there.  And 
they  did  not  come,  or  else  had  gone  straight  into 
the  taverns  to  drink  together. 

There  had  been  no  processions  or  strolls,  and 
she,  with  her  heart  aching  more  than  ever,  had 
remained  at  her  window  the  whole  evening  listen- 
ing to  the  water  streaming  over  the  roofs,  and 
the  fishers'  noisy  songs  rising  and  falling  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  taverns. 

For  the  last  few  days  she  had  been  expecting 

this  visit,  surmising  truly  that  old  Gaos  would 

send  his  son  to  terminate  the  business  concerning 

the  sale  of  the  boat,  as  he  did  not  care  to  come 

into  Paimpol  himself.     She  determined  then  ihat 

she  would  go  straight  to  him,  and,  unlike  other 

girls,  speak  out  frankly,  to  have  her  conscience 

109 


In  the  Breton  Land 

clear  on  the  subject.  She  would  reproach  him 
with  having  sought  her  out  and  having  abandoned 
her  like  a  man  without  honour.  If  it  were  only 
stubbornness,  timidity,  his  great  love  for  his 
sailor-life,  or  simply  the  fear  of  a  refusal,  as  Syl- 
vestre  had  hinted,  why,  all  these  objections  would 
disappear,  after  a  frank,  fair  understanding  be^ 
tween  them.  His  fond  smile  might  return^ 
which  had  charmed  and  won  her  the  winter  be- 
fore, and  all  would  be  settled.  This  hope  gave 
her  strength  and  courage,  and  sweetened  her  im- 
patience. From  afar,  things  always  appear  so 
easy  and  simple  to  say  and  to  do. 

This  visit  of  Yann's  fell  by  chance  at  a  con- 
venient hour.  She  was  sure  that  her  father,  who 
was  sitting  and  smoking,  would  not  get  up  to 
walk  part  of  the  way  with  him  ;  so  in  the  empty 
passage  she  might  have  her  explanation  out  with 
him. 

But  now  that  the  time  had  come,  such  bold- 
ness seemed  extreme.  The  bare  idea  of  looking 
him  face  to  face  at  the  foot  of  those  stairs,  made 
her  tremble ;  and  her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would 
break.  At  any  moment  the  door  below  might 
open,  with  the  squeak  she  knew  so  well,  to  let 
him  out ! 

**  No,  no,  she  never  would  dare  ;  rather  would 
no 


< 


A  Curious  Rencontre 

she  die  of  longing  and  sorrow,  than  attempt  such 
an  act."  She  already  made  a  few  return  steps 
towards  the  back  of  her  room,  to  regain  her  seat 
and  work.  But  she  stopped  again,  hesitating 
and  afraid,  remembering  that  to-morrow  was  the 
sailing  day  for  Iceland,  and  that  this  occasion 
stood  alone.  If  she  let  it  slip  by,  she  would 
have  to  wait  through  months  upon  months  of 
solitude  and  despair,  languishing  for  his  return — 
losing  another  whole  summer  of  her  life. 

Below,  the  door  opened — Yann  was  coming 
out! 

Suddenly  resolute,  she  rushed  downstairs,  and 
tremblingly  stood  before  him. 

'*  Monsieur  Yann,  I — I  wish  to  speak  to  you, 
please." 

"To  me,  Mademoiselle  Gaud?"  queried  he, 
lowering  his  voice  and  snatching  off  his  hat. 

He  looked  at  her  fiercely,  with  a  hard  expres- 
sion in  his  flashing  eyes,  and  his  head  thrown 
back,  seeming  even  to  wonder  if  he  ought  to 
stop  for  her  at  all.  With  one  foot  ready  to 
start  away,  he  stood  straight  up  against  the 
wall,  as  if  to  be  as  far  apart  from  her  as  pos- 
sible, in  the  narrow  passage,  where  he  felt  im* 
prisoned. 

Paralyzed,  she  could  remember  nothing  of 
in 


In  the  Breton  Land 

what  she  had  wished  to  say  ;  she  had  not  thought 
he  would  try  and  pass  on  without  listening  to 
her.     What  an  affront ! 

"  Does  our  house  frighten  you,  Monsieur 
Yann  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  dry,  odd  tone — not  at 
all  the  one  she  wished  to  use. 

He  turned  his  eyes  away,  looking  outside ; 
his  cheeks  blazed  red,  a  rush  of  blood  burned  all 
his  face,  and  his  quivering  nostrils  dilated  with 
every  breath,  keeping  time  with  the  heavings  of 
liis  chest,  like  a  young  bull's. 

"  The  night  of  the  ball,"  she  tried  to  continue, 
**  when  we  were  together,  you  bade  me  good-bye, 
not  as  a  man  speaks  to  an  indifferent  person. 
Monsieur  Yann,  have  you  no  memory  ?  What 
have  I  done  to  vex  you  ?  " 

The  nasty  western  breeze  blowing  in  from 
the  street  ruffled  his  hair  and  the  frills  of  Gaud's 
coiffe,  and  behind  them  a  door  was  banged  furi- 
ously. The  passage  was  not  meet  for  talking  of 
serious  matters  in.  After  these  first  phrases, 
choking.  Gaud  remained  speechless,  feeling  her 
head  spin,  and  without  ideas.  They  still  ad- 
vanced towards  the  street  door;  he  seemed  so 
anxious  to  get  away,  and  she  was  so  determined 
not  to  be  shaken  off. 

Outside  the  wind  blew  noisily  and  the  sky 

112 


A  Curious   Rencontre 

was  black.  A  sad  livid  light  fell  upon  their 
faces  through  the  open  door.  And  an  opposite 
neighbour  looked  at  them  :  what  could  the  pair 
be  saying  to  one  another  in  that  passage  together, 
looking  so  troubled  ?  What  was  wrong  over  at 
the  M^vel's  ? 

"  Nay,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,"  he  answered  at 
last,  turning  away  with  the  powerful  grace  of  a 
young  lion,  "  I've  heard  folks  talk  about  us  quite 
enough  already  !  Nay,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  for, 
you  see,  you  are  rich,  and  we  are  not  people  of 
the  same  class.  I  am  not  the  fellow  to  come 
after  a  *  swell '  lady." 

He  went  forth  on  his  way.  So  now  all  was 
over  for  ever  and  ever.  She  had  not  even  said 
what  she  wished  in  that  interview,  which  had 
only  made  her  seem  a  very  bold  girl  in  his  sight. 
What  kind  of  a  fellow  was  this  Yann,  with  his 
contempt  for  women,  his  scorn  for  money,  and 
all  desirable  things  ? 

At  first  she  remained  fixed  to  the  spot,  sick 
with  giddiness,  as  things  swam  around  her.  One 
intolerably  painful  thought  suddenly  struck  her 
like  a  flash  of  lightning — Yann's  comrades,  the 
Icelanders,  were  waiting  for  him  below  in  the 
market-place.  What  if  he  were  to  tell  them  this 
as  a  good  joke — what  a  still  more  odious  affront 

^13 


In  the  Breton  Land 

upon  her!  She  quickly  returned  to  her  room 
to  watch  them  through  her  window-curtains. 

Before  the  house,  indeed,  she  saw  the  men 
assembled,  but  they  were  simply  contemplating 
the  weather,  which  was  becoming  worse  and 
worse,  and  discussed  the  threatening  rain. 

"It'll  only  be  a  shower.  Let's  go  in  and 
drink  away  the  time,  till  it  passes.'* 

They  poked  jokes  and  laughed  loudly  over 
Jeannie  Caroff  and  other  beauties ;  but  not  even 
one  of  them  looked  up  at  her  window.  They 
were  all  joyful,  except  Yann,  who  said  nothing, 
and  remained  grave  and  sad.  He  did  not  go  in 
to  drink  with  them  ;  and  without  noticing  either 
them  or  the  rain,  which  had  begun  to  fall,  he 
slowly  walked  away  under  the  shower,  as  if  ab- 
sorbed in  his  thoughts,  crossing  the  market-place 
towards  Ploubazlanec. 

Then  she  forgave  him  all,  and  a  feeling  of 
hopeless  tenderness  for  him  came,  instead  of  the 
bitter  disappointment  that  previously  had  filled 
her  heart.  She  sat  down  and  held  her  head  be- 
tween her  hands.     What  could  she  do  now  ? 

Oh  !  if  he  had  listened  only  a  moment  to  her, 

or  if  he  could  come  into  that  room,  where  they 

might  speak  together  alone,  perhaps  all  might 

yet  be  arranged.     She  loved  him  enough  to  tell 

114 


A  Curious  Rencontre 

him  so  to  his  face.  She  would  say  to  him  :  "  You 
sought  me  out  when  I  asked  you  for  nothing ; 
now  I  am  yours  with  my  whole  soul,  if  you  will 
have  me.  I  don't  mind  a  bit  being  the  wife  of 
a  fisherman,  and  yet,  if  I  liked,  I  need  but  choose 
among  all  the  young  men  of  Paimpol ;  but  I 
do  love  you,  because,  notwithstanding  all,  I  be- 
lieve you  to  be  better  than  others.  I'm  tolerably 
well-to-do,  and  I  know  I  am  pretty ;  although  I 
have  lived  in  towns,  I  am  sure  that  I  am  not  a 
spoiled  girl,  as  I  never  have  done  anything  wrong ; 
then,  if  I  love  you  so,  why  shouldn't  you  take 
me?" 

But  all  this  never  would  be  said  except  in 
dreams ;  it  was  too  late  !  Yann  would  not  hear 
her.  Try  and  talk  to  him  a  second  time  ?  Oh, 
no !  what  kind  of  a  creature  would  he  take  her 
then  to  be  ?     She  would  rather  die. 

Yet  to-morrow  they  would  all  start  for  Ice- 
land. The  whitish  February  daylight  streamed 
into  her  fine  room.  Chill  and  lonely  she  fell 
upon  one  of  the  chairs  along  the  wall.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  the  whole  world  were  crashing  and 
falling  in  around  her.  All  things  past  and  present 
were  as  if  buried  in  a  fearful  abyss,  which  yawned 
on  all  sides  of  her.  She  wished  her  life  would 
end,  and  that  she  were  lying  calm  beneath  some 

fli5 


In  the  Breton  Land 

cold   tombstone,   where    no    more   pain    might 
touch  her. 

But  she  had  sincerely  forgiven  him,  and  no 
hatred  mingled  with  her  desperate  love. 


CHAPTER  XII 

STRIKING   THE    ROCK    UNKNOWN 

The  sea,  the  gray  sea  once  more,  where  Yann 
was  gently  gliding  along  its  broad,  trackless  road, 
that  leads  the  fishermen  every  year  to  the  Land 
of  Ice. 

The  day  before,  when  they  all  had  set  off  to 
the  music  of  the  old  hymns,  there  blew  a  brisk 
breeze  from  the  south,  and  all  the  ships  with  their 
outspread  sails  had  dispersed  like  so  many  gulls ; 
but  that  breeze  had  suddenly  subsided,  and  speed 
had  diminished;  great  fog-banks  covered  the 
watery  surface. 

Yann  was  perhaps  quieter  than  usual.  He 
said  that  the  weather  was  too  calm,  and  appeared 
to  excite  himself,  as  if  he  would  drive  away  some 
care  that  weighed  upon  him.  But  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  be  carried  serenely  in  the  midst  of 
serene  things ;  only  to  breathe  and  let  himself 

live.     On  looking  out,  only  the  deep  gray  masses 

1x6 


Striking  the  Rock   Unknown 

around  could  be  seen  ;  on  listening,  only  si- 
lence. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  almost  imperceptible 
rumbling,  which  came  from  below,  accompanied 
by  a  grinding  sensation,  as  when  a  brake  comes 
hard  down  on  carriage  wheels.  The  Marie  ceased 
all  movement.  They  had  struck.  Where,  and 
on  what  ?  Some  bank  off  the  English  coast 
probably.  For  since  overnight  they  had  been 
able  to  see  nothing,' with  those  curtains  of  mist. 

The  men  ran  and  rushed  about,  their  bustle 
contrasting  strongly  with  the  sudden  rigidity  of 
their  ship.  How  had  the  Marie  come  to  a  stop 
in  that  spot  ?  In  the  midst  of  that  immensity  of 
fluid  in  this  dull  weather,  seeming  to  be  almost 
without  consistence,  she  had  been  seized  by  some 
resistless  immovable  power  hidden  beneath  the 
waves ;  she  was  tight  in  its  grasp,  and  might  per- 
ish there. 

Who  has  not  seen  poor  birds  caught  by  their 
feet  in  the  lime  ?  At  first  they  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve they  are  caught ;  it  changes  nothing  in  their 
aspect ;  but  they  soon  are  sure  that  they  are  held 
fast,  and  in  danger  of  never  getting  free  again. 
And  when  they  struggle  to  get  free,  and  the 
sticky  stuff  soils  their  wings  and  heads,  they 
gradually  assume  that   pitiful  look  of  a  dumb 

117 


In  the  Breton  Land 

creature  in  distress,  about  to  die.  Such  was  the 
case  with  the  Marie,  At  first  it  did  not  seem 
much  to  be  concerned  about ;  she  certainly  was 
careened  a  little  on  one  side,  but  it  was  broad 
morning,  ,and  the  weather  was  fair  and  calm  ;  one 
Vad  to  know  such  things  by  experience  to  be- 
come uneasy,  and  understand  that  it  was  a  serious 
matter. 

The  captain  was  to  be  pitied.  It  was  his  fault, 
as  he  had  not  understood  exactly  where  they  were. 
He  wrung  his  hands,  saying :  "  God  help  us !  God 
help  us ! "  in  a  voice  of  despair. 

Close  to  them,  during  a  lifting  of  the  fog, 
they  could  distinguish  a  headland,  but  not  recog- 
nise it  But  the  mists  covered  it  anew,  and  they 
saw  it  no  longer. 

There  was  no  sail  or  smoke  in  sight.  They 
all  jostled  about,  hurrying  and  knocking  the  deck 
lumber  over.  Their  dog  Turc,  who  did  not  usu- 
ally mind  the  movement  of  the  sea,  was  greatly 
affected  too  by  this  incident,  these  sounds  from 
down  below,  these  heavy  wallowings  when  the 
low  swell  passed  under,  and  the  sudden  calm  that 
afterwards  followed ;  he  understood  that  all  this 
was  unusual,  and  he  hid  himself  away  in  corners, 
with  his  tail  between  his  legs.  They  got  out  the 
boats  to  carry  the  kedges  and  set  them  firm,  and 

ii8 


Striking  the  Rock  Unknown 

tried  to  row  her  out  of  it  by  uniting  all  their 
forces  together  upon  the  tow-lines — a  heavy  piece 
of  work  this,  which  lasted  ten  successive  hours. 
So,  when  evening  came,  the  poor  bark,  which  had 
only  that  morning  been  so  fresh  and  light,  looked 
almost  swamped,  fouled,  and  good  for  nothing. 
She  had  fought  hard,  floundered  about  on  all 
sides,  but  still  remained  there,  fixed  as  in  a 
dock. 

Night  was  overtaking  them ;  the  wind  and 
the  waves  were  rising;  things  were  growing 
worse,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  towards  six  o'clock, 
they  were  let  go  clear,  and  could  be  off  again, 
tearing  asunder  the  tow-lines,  which  they  had 
left  to  keep  her  head  steady.  The  men  went 
rushing  about  like  madmen,  cheering  from  stem 
to  stem — "  We're  afloat,  boys  I " 

They  were  afloat,  with  a  joy  that  cannot  be 
described ;  what  it  was  to  feel  themselves  going 
forwards  on  a  buoyant  craft  again,  instead  of  on 
the  semi-wreck  it  was  before,  none  but  a  seaman 
feels,  and  few  of  them  can  tell. 

Yann's  sadness  had  disappeared  too.  Like 
his  ship,  he  became  lively  once  more,  cured  by 
the  healthy  manual  labour;  he  had  found  his 
reckless  look  again,  and  had  thrown  off  his  glum 
thoughts. 

VOL.  20  1 1^  Romances  7 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Next  morning,  when  the  kedges  were  fished 
up,  the  Marie  went  on  her  way  to  Iceland,  and 
Yann's  heart,  to  all  appearance,  was  as  free  as  in 
his  early  years. 

CHAPTER  XIII 

HOME    NEWS 

The  home  letters  were  being  distributed  on 
board  the  Circe,  at  anchor  at  Ha-Long,  over  on 
the  other  side  of  the  earth.  In  the  midst  of  a 
group  of  sailors,  the  purser  called  out,  in  a  loud 
voice,  the  names  of  the  fortunate  men  who  had 
letters  to  receive.  This  went  on  at  evening,  on 
the  ship's  side,  all  crushing  round  a  funnel. 

"  Moan,  Sylvestre  ! "  There  was  one  for  him, 
postmarked  *'  Paimpol,"  but  it  was  not  Gaud's 
writing.  What  did  that  mean  ?  from  whom  did 
it  come  else  ? 

After  having  turned  and  flourished  it  about, 
he  opened  it  fearingly,  and  read  : 

**  Ploubazlanec,  March  5th,  1884. 

"My  dear  Grandson  : " 

So,  it  was  from  his  dear  old  granny.  He 
breathed  free  again.  At  the  bottom  of  the  letter 
she  even  had  placed  her  signature,  learned  by 

120 


Home  News 

heart,  but  trembling  like  a  school^rrs  scribble : 
*•  Widow  Moan." 

"  Widow  Moan  ! "  With  a  quick  spontaneous 
movement  he  carried  the  paper  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  the  poor  name,  as  a  sacred  relic.  For  this 
letter  arrived  at  a  critical  moment  of  his  life ;  to- 
morrow at  dawn,  he  was  to  set  out  for  the  battle- 
field. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  April ;  Bac-Ninh  and 
Hong-Hoa  had  just  been  taken.  There  was  no 
great  warfare  going  on  in  Tonquin,  yet  the  rein- 
forcements arriving  were  not  sufficient ;  sailors 
were  taken  from  all  the  ships  to  make  up  the 
deficit  in  the  corps  already  disembarked.  Syl- 
vestre,  who  had  languished  so  long  in  the  midst 
of  cruises  and  blockades,  had  just  been  selected 
with  some  others  to  fill  up  the  vacancies. 

It  is  true  that  now  peace  was  spoken  of,  but 
something  told  them  that  they  yet  would  disem- 
bark in  good  time  to  fight  a  bit.  They  packed 
their  bags,  made  all  their  other  preparations,  and 
said  good-bye,  and  all  the  evening  through  they 
strolled  about  with  their  unfortunate  mates  who 
had  to  remain,  feeling  much  grander  and  prouder 
than  they.  Each  in  his  own  way  showed  his  im- 
pression at  this  departure — some  were  grave  and 
serious,  others  exuberant  and  talkative. 

121 


In  the  Breton  Land 

Sylvestre  was  very  quiet  and  thoughtful, 
though  impatient ;  only,  when  they  looked  at 
him,  his  smile  seemed  to  say,  "  Yes,  I'm  one  of 
the  fighting  party,  and  huzza  I  the  action  is  for 
to-morrow  morning ! " 

Of  gunshots  and  battle  he  formed  but  an  in- 
complete idea  as  yet ;  but  they  fascinated  him, 
for  he  came  of  a  valiant  race. 

The  strange  writing  of  his  letter  made  him 
anxious  about  Gaud,  and  he  drew  near  a  porthole 
to  read  the  epistle  through.  It  was  difficult 
amid  all  those  half-naked  men  pressing  round, 
in  the  unbearable  heat  of  the  gundeck. 

As  he  thought  she  would  do,  in  the  beginning 
of  her  letter  Granny  Moan  explained  why  she  had 
had  to  take  recourse  to  the  inexperienced  hand 
of  an  old  neighbour  : 

"  My  dear  child,  I  don't  ask  your  cousin  to 
write  for  me  to-day,  as  she  is  in  great  trouble. 
Her  father  died  suddenly  two  days  ago.  It  ap- 
pears that  his  whole  fortune  has  been  lost  through 
unlucky  gambling  last  winter  in  Paris.  So  his 
house  and  furniture  will  have  to  be  sold.  No» 
body  in  the  place  was  expecting  this.  I  think, 
dear  child,  that  this  will  pain  you  as  much  as  it 
does  me. 

12;; 


Home  News 

"  Gaos,  the  son,  sends  you  his  kind  remem- 
brance ;  he  has  renewed  his  articles  with  Captain 
Guermeur  of  the  Marie,  and  the  departure  for 
Iceland  was  rather  early  this  year,  for  they  set 
sail  on  the  first  of  the  month,  two  days  before 
our  poor  Gaud's  trouble,  and  he  don't  know  of 
it  yet. 

"  But  you  can  easily  imagine  that  we  shall 
not  get  them  wed  now,  for  she  will  be  obliged  to 
work  for  her  daily  bread." 

Sylvestre  dwelt  stupor-stricken  ;  this  bad  news 
quite  spoiled  his  glee  at  going  out  to  fight. 


133 


PART   III 
IN  THE  SHADOW 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    SKIRMISH 

Hark  f  a  bullet  hurtles  through  the  air! 

Sylvestre  stops  short  to  listen  ! 

He  is  upon  an  infinite  meadow,  green  with 
the  soft  velvet  carpet  of  spring.  The  sky  is 
gray,  lowering,  as  if  to  weigh  upon  one's  very 
shoulders. 

They  are  six  sailors  reconnoitring  among  the 
fresh  rice-fields,  in  a  muddy  pathway. 

Hist !  again  the  whizz,  breaking  the  silence 
of  the  air — a  shrill,  continuous  sound,  a  kind  of 
prolonged  zing,  giving  one  a  strong  impression 
that  the  pellets  buzzing  by  might  have  stung 
fatally. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Sylvestre  hears 
that  music.  The  bullets  coming  towards  a  man 
have  a  different  sound  from  those  fired  by  him- 
self :  the  far-off  report  is  attenuated,  or  not  heard 
at  all,  so  it  is  easier  to  distinguish  the  sharp  rush 
of  metal  as  it  swiftly  passes  by,  almost  grazing 

one's  ears. 

127 


In  the  Shadow 

Crack  !  whizz  !  ping !  again  and  ytt 
The  balls  fall  in  regular  showers  no 
the  sailors  they  stop  short,  and  are  hu 
flooded  soil  of  the  rice-fields,  accompanied  by  a 
faint  splash,  like  hail  falling  sharp  and  swift  m  a 
puddle  of  water. 

The  marines  looked  at  one  another  as  if  it 
was  all  a  piece  of  odd  fun,  and  said : 

"  Only  John  Chinaman  !  pish  !" 

To  the  sailors,  Annamites,  Tonquinese,  or 
"  Black  Flags  "  are  all  of  the  same  Chinese  family. 
It  is  difficult  to  show  their  contempt  and  mock- 
ing rancour,  as  well  as  eagerness  for  "bowling 
over  the  beggars,"  when  they  speak  of  "the 
Chinese." 

Two  or  three  bullets  are  still  flying  about, 
more  closely  grazing ;  they  can  be  seen  bouncing 
like  grasshoppers  in  the  green.  The  slight  shower 
of  lead  did  not  last  long. 

Perfect  silence  returns  to  the  broad  verdant 
plain,  and  nowhere  can  anything  be  seen  moving. 
The  same  six  are  still  there,  standing  on  the  watch, 
scenting  the  breeze,  and  trying  to  discover  whence 
the  volley  came.  Surely  from  over  yonder,  by 
that  clump  of  bamboos,  which  looks  like  an  island 
of  feathers  in  the  plain  ;  behind  it  several  pointed 
roofs  appear  half  hidden.     So  they  all  made  for 

128 


The  Skirmish 

it,  tJieir  feet  slipping  or  sinking  into  the  soaked 
S|jM^Bl|5CStre  runs  foremost,  on  his  longer,  more 
nimaj^lgs. 

Ifo  more  buzz  of  bullets;  they  might  have 
thought  they  were  dreaming. 

As  in  all  the  countries  of  the  world,  some 
features  are  the  same  ;  the  cloudy  gray  skies  and 
the  fresh  tints  of  fields  in  spring-time,  for  ex- 
ample ;  one  could  imagine  this  upon  French 
meadows,  and  these  young  fellows,  running  mer- 
rily over  them,  playing  a  very  different  sport  from 
this  game  of  death. 

But  as  they  approach,  the  bamboos  show  the 
exotic  delicacy  of  their  foliage,  and  the  village 
roofs  grow  sharper  in  the  singularity  of  their 
curves,  and  yellow  men  hidden  behind  advance 
to  reconnoitre  ;  their  flat  faces  are  contracted  by 
fear  and  spitefulness.  Then  suddenly  they  rush 
out  screaming,  and  deploy  into  a  long  line,  trem- 
bling, but  decided  and  dangerous. 

"  The  Chinese  ! "  shout  the  sailors  again,  with 
their  same  brave  smile. 

But  this  time  they  find  that  there  are  a  good 

many — too  many  ;  and  one  of  them  turning  round 

perceives   other  Chinese   coming  from   behind, 

springing  up  from  the  long  tall  grass. 

At  this  moment,  young  Sylvestre  oame  out 
129 


wm 


In  the  Shadow 

grand ;  his  old  granny  would  have  been  proud  to 
see  him  such  a  warrior.  Since  the  last  fejj^days 
he  had  altered.  His  face  was  bronzed,  and  his 
voice  strengthened.  He  was  in  his  own  eleTnent 
here. 

In  a  moment  of  supreme  indecision  the  sailors 
hit  by  the  bullets  almost  yielded  to  an  impulse  of 
retreat,  which  would  certainly  have  been  death  to 
them  all ;  but  Sylvestre  continued  to  advance, 
clubbing  his  rifle,  and  fighting  a  whole  band, 
knocking  them  down  right  and  left  with  smash- 
ing blows  from  the  butt-end.  Thanks  to  him 
the  situation  was  reversed ;  that  panic  or  mad- 
ness that  blindly  deceives  all  in  these  leader- 
less  skirmishes  had  now  passed  over  to  the  Chi- 
nese side,  and  it  was  they  who  began  to  re- 
treat. 

It  was  soon  all  over ;  they  were  fairly  taking 
to  their  heels.  The  six  sailors,  reloading  their 
repeating  rifles,  shot  them  down  easily ;  upon  the 
grass  lay  dead  bodies  by  red  pools,  and  skulls 
were  emptying  their  brains  into  the  river. 

They  fled,  cowering  like  leopards.     Sylvestre 

ran  after  them,  although  he  had  had  two  wounds 

—a  lance-thrust  in  the  thigh  and  a  deep  gash  in 

his  arm  ;  but  feeling  nothing  save  the  intoxication 

of  battle,  that  unreasoning  fever  that  comes  of 

130 


The  Skirmish 

vigorous  blood,  gives  lofty  courage  to   simple 
souls,,  and  made  the  heroes  of  antiquity. 

One  whom  he  was  pursuing  turned  round, 
and' with  a  spasm  of  desperate  terror  took  a  de- 
liberate aim  at  him.  Sylvestre  stopped  short, 
smiling  scornfully,  sublime,  to  let  him  fire,  and 
seeing  the  direction  of  the  aim,  only  shifted  a 
little  to  the  left.  But  with  the  pressure  upon 
the  trigger  the  barrel  of  the  Chinese  jingal  de- 
viated slightly  in  the  same  direction.  He  sud- 
denly felt  a  smart  rap  upon  his  breast,  and  in  a 
flash  of  thought  understood  what  it  was,  even 
before  feeling  any  pain ;  he  turned  towards  the 
others  following,  and  tried  to  cry  out  to  them 
the  traditional  phrase  of  the  old  soldier,  "  I  think 
it's  all  up  with  me ! "  In  the  great  breath  that 
he  inhaled  after  having  run,  to  refill  his  lungs 
with  air,  he  felt  the  air  rush  in  also  by  a  hole  in 
his  right  breast,  with  a  horrible  gurgling,  like  the 
blast  in  a  broken  bellows.  In  that  same  time  his 
mouth  filled  with  blood,  and  a  sharp  pain  shot 
through  his  side,  which  rapidly  grew  worse,  until 
it  became  atrocious  and  unspeakable.  He  whirled 
round  two  or  three  times,  his  brain  swimming 
too;  and  gasping  for  breath  through  the  rising 
red  tide  that  choked  him,  fell  heavily  in  the  mud. 


131 


In  the  Shadow 

CHAPTER  II 

"  OUT,  BRIEF   CANDLE  I " 

About  a  fortnight  later,  as  the  sky  was  dark- 
ening at  the  approach  of  the  rains,  and  the  heat 
more  heavily  weighed  over  yellow  Tonquin,  Syl- 
vestre  brought  to  Hanoi,  was  sent  to  Ha-Long, 
and  placed  on  board  a  hospital-ship  about  to  re- 
turn to  France. 

He  had  been  carried  about  for  some  time  on 
different  stretchers,  with  intervals  of  rest  at  the 
ambulances.  They  had  done  all  they  could  for 
him ;  but  under  the  insufficient  conditions,  his 
chest  had  filled  with  water  on  the  pierced  side, 
and  the  gurgling  air  entered  through  the  wound, 
which  would  not  close  up. 

He  had  received  the  military  medal,  which 
gave  him  a  moment's  joy.  But  he  was  no  longer 
the  warrior  of  old — resolute  of  gait,  and  steady 
in  his  resounding  voice.  All  that  had  vanished 
before  the  long-suffering  and  weakening  fever. 
He  had  become  a  home-sick  boy  again  ;  he  hardly 
spoke  except  in  answering  occasional  questions, 
in  a  feeble  and  almost  inaudible  voice.  To  feel 
oneself  so  sick  and  so  far  away  ;  to  think  that  it 
wanted  so  many  days  before  he  could  reach  home  I 

132 


"Out,  Brief  Candle!" 

Would  he  ever  live  until  then,  with  his  strength 
ebbing  away  ?  Such  a  terrifying  feeling  of  dis- 
tance continually  haunted  him  and  weighed  at 
every  wakening;  and  when,  after  a  few  hours' 
stupor,  he  awoke  from  the  sickening  pain  of  his 
wounds,  with  feverish  heat  and  the  whistling 
sound  in  his  pierced  bosom,  he  implored  them  to 
put  him  on  board,  in  spite  of  everything.  He 
was  very  heavy  to  carry  into  his  ward,  and  with- 
out intending  it,  they  gave  him  some  cruel  jolts 
on  the  way. 

They  laid  him  on  one  of  the  iron  camp  bed- 
steads placed  in  rows,  hospital  fashion,  and  then 
he  set  out  in  an  inverse  direction,  on  his  long 
journey  through  the  seas.  Instead  of  living  like 
a  bird  in  the  full  wind  of  the  tops,  he  remained 
below  deck,  in  the  midst  of  the  bad  air  of  medi- 
cines, wounds,  and  misery. 

During  the  first  days  the  joy  of  being  home- 
ward bound  made  him  feel  a  little  better.  He 
could  even  bear  being  propped  up  in  bed  with 
pillows,  and  at  times  he  asked  for  his  box.  His 
seaman's  chest  was  a  deal  box,  bought  in  Paim- 
pol,  to  keep  all  his  loved  treasures  in ;  inside 
were  letters  from  Granny  Yvonne,  and  also  from 
Yann  and  Gaud,  a  copy-book  into  which  he  had 
copied  some  sea-songs,  and  one  of  the  works  of 

133 


■V 


In  the  Shadow 

Confucius  in  Chinese,  caught  up  at  random  dur- 
ing pillage ;  on  the  blank  sides  of  its  leaves  he 
had  written  the  simple  account  of  his  campaign. 

Nevertheless  he  got  no  better,  and  after  the 
first  week,  the  doctors  decided  that  death  was 
imminent.  They  were  near  the  Line  now,  in  the 
stifling  heat  of  storms.  The  troop-ship  kept  on 
her  course,  shaking  her  beds,  the  wounded  and 
the  dying;  quicker  and  quicker  she  sped  over 
the  tossing  sea,  troubled  still  as  during  the  sway 
of  the  monsoons. 

Since  leaving  Ha- Long  more  than  one  patient 
died,  and  was  consigned  to  the  deep  water  on  the 
high  road  to  France ;  many  of  the  narrow  beds 
no  longer  bore  their  suffering  burdens. 

Upon  this  particular  day  it  was  very  gloomy 
in  the  travelling  hospital ;  on  account  of  the  high 
seas  it  had  been  necessary  to  close  the  iron  port- 
lids,  which  made  the  stifling  sick-room  more  un- 
bearable. Sylvestre  was  worse ;  the  end  was 
nigh.  Lying  always  upon  his  wounded  side,  he 
pressed  upon  it  with  both  hands  with  all  his  re- 
maining strength,  to  try  and  allay  the  watery 
decomposition  that  rose  in  his  right  lung,  and 
to  breathe  with  the  other  lung  only.  But  by 
degrees  the  other  was  affected  and  the  ultimate 
agony  had  begun. 

134 


"Out,  Brief  Candle! 


99 


Dreams  and  visions  of  home  haunted  his 
brain ;  in  the  hot  darkness,  beloved  or  horrible 
faces  bent  over  him ;  he  was  in  a  never-ending 
hallucination,  through  which  floated  apparitions 
of  Brittany  and  Iceland.  In  the  morning  was 
called  in  the  priest,  and  the  old  man,  who  was 
used  to  seeing  sailors  die,  was  astonished  to  find 
so  pure  a  soul  in  so  strong  and  manly  a  body. 

He  cried  out  for  air,  air !  but  there  was  none 
anywhere ;  the  ventilators  no  longer  gave  any ; 
the  attendant,  who  was  fanning  him  with  a  Chi- 
nese fan,  only  moved  unhealthy  vapours  over  him 
of  sickening  staleness,  which  revolted  all  lungs. 
Sometimes  fierce,  desperate  fits  came  over  him ; 
he  wished  to  tear  himself  away  from  that  bed, 
where  he  felt  death  would  come  to  seize  him, 
and  rush  above  into  the  full  fresh  wind  and  try 
to  live  again.  Oh !  to  be  like  those  others, 
scrambling  about  among  the  rigging,  and  living 
among  the  masts.  But  his  extreme  effort  only 
ended  in  the  feeble  lifting  of  his  weakened  head ; 
something  like  the  incompleted  movement  of  a 
sleeper.  He  could  not  manage  it,  but  fell  back 
in  the  hollow  of  his  crumpled  bed,  partly  chained 
there  by  death  ;  and  each  time,  after  the  fatigue 
of  a  like  shock,  he  lost  all  consciousness. 

To  please  him  they  opened  a  port  at  last, 
135 


In  the  Shadow 

although  it  was  dangerous,  the  sea  being  very 
rough.  It  was  going  on  for  six  in  the  evening. 
When  the  disk  was  swung  back,  a  red  light  en- 
tered, glorious  and  radiant.  The  dying  sun  ap- 
peared upon  the  horizon  in  dazzling  splendour, 
through  a  torn  rift  in  a  gloomy  sky  ;  its  blinding 
light  glanced  over  the  waves,  and  lit  up  the 
floating  hospital,  like  a  waving  torch. 

But  no  air  rushed  in  ;  the  little  there  was  out- 
side, was  powerless  to  enter  and  drive  before  it 
the  fevered  atmosphere.  Over  all  sides  of  that 
boundless  equatorial  sea,  floated  a  warm  and 
heavy  moisture,  unfit  for  respiration.  No  air  on 
any  side,  not  even  for  the  poor  gasping  fellows 
on  their  deathbeds. 

One  vision  disturbed  him  greatly ;  it  was  of 
his  old  grandmother,  walking  quickly  along  a 
road,  with  a  heartrending  look  of  alarm ;  from 
low-lying  funereal  clouds  above  her,  fell  the 
drizzling  rain  ;  she  was  on  her  way  to  Paim- 
pol,  summoned  thither  to  be  informed  of  his 
death. 

He  was  struggling  now,  with  the  death-rattle 
in  his  throat.  From  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
they  sponged  away  the  water  and  blood,  which 
had  welled  up  in  quantities  from  his  chest  in 
writhing  agony.     Still  the  grand,  glorious  sun  lit 

136 


««Out,  Brief  Candle  I" 

up  all,  like  a  conflagration  of  the  whole  world, 
with  blood-laden  clouds;  through  the  aperture 
of  the  port-hole,  a  wide  streak  of  crimson  fire 
blazed  in,  and,  spreading  over  Sylvestre's  bed, 
formed  a  halo  around  him. 

•  o  •  •  •  • 

At  that  very  moment  that  same  sun  was  to 
be  seen  in  Brittany,  where  midday  was  about  to 
strike.  It  was,  indeed,  the  same  sun,  beheld  at 
the  precise  moment  of  its  never-ending  round ; 
but  here  it  kept  quite  another  hue.  Higher  up 
in  the  bluish  sky,  it  kept  shedding  a  soft  white 
light  on  grandmother  Yvonne,  sitting  out  at  her 
door,  sewing. 

.  •  •  •  •  • 

In  Iceland,  too,  where  it  was  morning,  it  wa? 
shining  at  that  same  moment  of  death.  Much  paler 
there,  it  seemed  as  if  it  only  showed  its  face  by 
some  miracle.  Sadly  it  shed  its  rays  over  the 
fjord  where  La  Marie  floated  ;  and  now  its  sky 
was  lit  up  by  a  pure  northern  light,  which  always 
gives  the  idea  of  a  frozen  planet's  reflection,  with- 
out an  atmosphere.  With  a  cold  accuracy,  it  out- 
lined all  the  essentials  of  that  stony  chaos  that  is 
Iceland  ;  the  whole  of  the  country  as  seen  from 
La  Marie  seemed  fixed  in  one  same  perspective 
and  held  upright.     Yann  was  there,  lit  up  by  a 

137 


In  the  Shadow 

strange  light,  fishing,  as  usual,  in  the  midst  of 
this  lunar-like  scenery. 

•  ••••• 

As  the  beam  of  fiery  flame  that  came  through 
the  port-hole  faded,  and  the  sun  disappeared  com- 
pletely under  the  gilded  billows,  the  eyes  of  the 
grandson  rolled  inward  toward  his  brow  as  if  to 
fall  back  into  his  head. 

They  closed  his  eyelids  with  their  own  long 
lashes,  and  Sylvestre  became  calm  and  beautiful 
again,  like  a  reclining  marble  statue  of  manly 
repose. 

CHAPTER  III 

THE   GRAVE   ABROAD 

I  CANNOT  refrain  from  telling  you  about  Syl- 
vestre's  funeral,  which  I  conducted  myself  in  Sing- 
apore. We  had  thrown  enough  other  dead  into 
the  Sea  of  China,  during  the  early  days  of  the 
home  voyage ;  and  as  the  Malay  land  was  quite 
near,  we  decided  to  keep  his  remains  a  few  hours 
longer,  to  bury  him  fittingly. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  morning,  on  account 
of  the  terrible  sun.  In  the  boat  that  carried  him 
ashore,  his  corpse  was  shrouded  in  the  national 
flag.     The  city  was  in  sleep  as  we  landed.     A 

138 


The  Grave  Abroad 

wagonette,  sent  by  the  French  Consul,  was  wait* 
ing  on  the  quay ;  we  laid  Sylvestre  upon  it,  with 
a  wooden  cross  made  on  board — the  paint  still 
wet  upon  it,  for  the  carpenter  had  to  hurry  over 
it,  and  the  white  letters  of  his  name  ran  into  the 
black  ground. 

We  crossed  that  Babel  in  the  rising  sun.  And 
then  it  was  such  an  emotion  to  find  the  serene 
calm  of  an  European  place  of  worship  in  the 
midst  of  the  distasteful  turmoil  of  the  Chinese 
country.  Under  the  high  white  arch,  where  I 
stood  alone  with  my  sailors,  the  '''Dies  Irc^^' 
chanted  by  a  missionary  priest,  sounded  like 
a  soft  magical  incantation.  Through  the  open 
doors  we  could  see  sights  that  resembled  en- 
chanted gardens,  exquisite  verdure  and  immense 
palm-trees ;  the  wind  shook  the  large  flowering 
shrubs  and  their  perfumed  crimson  petals  fell 
like  rain,  almost  into  the  church  itself.  Thence 
we  marched  to  the  cemetery,  very  far  off.  Our 
little  procession  of  sailors  was  very  unpretentious, 
but  the  coffin  remained  conspicuously  wrapped  in 
the  flag  of  France.  We  had  to  traverse  the  Chi- 
nese quarter,  through  seething  crowds  of  yellow 
men ;  and  then  the  Malay  and  Indian  suburbs, 
where  all  types  of  Asiatic  faces  looked  upon  us 
with  astonishment. 

139 


In  the  Shadow 

Then  came  the  open  country  already  heated ; 
through  shady  groves  where  exquisite  butterflies^ 
on  velvety  blue  wings,  flitted  in  masses.  On 
either  side,  waved  tall  luxuriant  palms,  and  quan- 
tities of  flowers  in  splendid  profusion.  At  last 
we  came  to  the  cemetery,  with  mandarins'  tombs 
and  many-coloured  inscriptions,  adorned  with 
paintings  of  dragons  and  other  monsters ;  amid 
astounding  foliage  and  plants  growing  every- 
where.  The  spot  where  we  laid  him  down  to 
rest  resembled  a  nook  in  the  gardens  of  Indra. 
Into  the  earth  we  drove  the  little  wooaen  cross^ 

lettered : 

SvLVESTRE  Moan. 

AGED  19. 

And  we  left  him,  forced  to  go  because  of  the 
hot  rising  sun;  we  turned  back  once  more  to 
look  at  him  under  those  marvellous  trees  and 
huge  nodding  flowers. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TO  THE  SURVIVORS,   THE  SPOILS 

The  trooper  continued  its  course  through  the 
Indian  Ocean.  Down  below  in  the  floating  hos- 
pital other  death-scenes  went  on.     On  deck  there 

140 


To  the  Survivors,  the  Spoils 

vf^s  carelessness  of  health  and  youth.  Round 
about,  over  the  sea,  was  a  very  feast  of  pure  sun 
and  air. 

In  this  fine  trade-wind  weather,  the  sailors, 
stretched  in  the  shade  of  the  sails,  were  playing 
with  little  pet  parrots  and  making  them  run  races. 
In  this  Singapore,  which  they  had  just  left,  the 
sailors  buy  all  kinds  of  tame  animals.  They  had 
all  chosen  baby*parrots,  with  childish  looks  upon 
their  hooknose  faces ;  they  had  no  tails  yet ;  they 
were  green,  of  a  wonderful  shade.  As  they  went 
running  over  the  clean  white  planks,  they  looked 
like  fresh  young  leaves,  fallen  from  tropical  trees. 

Sometimes  the  sailors  gathered  them  all  to* 
gather  in  one  lot,  when  they  inspected  one  an- 
other funnily ;  twisting  about  their  throats,  to  be 
seen  under  all  aspects.  They  comically  waddled 
about  like  so  many  lame  people,  or  suddenly 
started  off  in  a  great  hurry  for  some  unknown 
destination ;  and  some  fell  down  in  their  excite- 
ment. And  there  were  monkeys,  learning  tricks 
of  all  kinds,  another  source  of  amusement  Some 
were  most  tenderly  loved  and  even  kissed  ex- 
travagantly, as  they  nestled  against  the  callous 
bosoms  of  their  masters,  gazing  fondly  at  them 
with  womanish  eyes,  half-grotesque  and  half- 
touching. 


In  the  Shadow 

Upon  the  stroke  of  three  o'clock,  the  quarter* 
masters  brought  on  deck  two  canvas  bags,  sealed 
with  huge  red  seals,  bearing  Sylvestre's  name ; 
for  by  order  of  the  regulations  in  regard  to  the 
dead,  all  his  clothes  and  personal  worldly  belong* 
ings  were  to  be  sold  by  auction.  The  sailors 
gaily  grouped  themselves  around  the  pile;  for, 
on  board  a  hospital  ship,  too  many  of  these  sales 
of  effects  are  seen  to  excite  any  particular  emo- 
tion. Besides,  Sylvestre  had  been  but  little  known 
upon  that  ship. 

His  jackets  and  shirts  and  blue-striped  jerseys 
were  fingered  and  turned  over  and  then  bought 
up  at  different  prices,  the  buyers  forcing  the  bid« 
ding  just  to  amuse  themselves. 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  small  treasure-box^ 
which  was  sold  for  fifty  sous.  The  letters  and 
military  medal  had  been  taken  out  of  it,  to  be 
sent  back  to  the  family ;  but  not  the  book  of  M 
songs  and  the  work  of  Confucius,  with  the  nee- 
dles, cotton,  and  buttons,  and  all  the  petty  requi* 
sites  placed  there  by  the  forethought  of  Granny 
Moan  for  sewing  and  mending. 

Then  the  quartermaster  who    held  up  the* 

things  to  be  sold  drew  out  two  small  Buddhas, 

taken  in  some  pxagoda  to  give  to  Gaud,  and  so 

funny  were  they  that  they  were  greeted  with  a 

14a 


The  Death-Blow 

general  burst  of  laughter,  when  they  appeared  as 
the  last  lot.  But  the  sailors  laughed,  not  for 
want  of  heart,  but  only  through  thoughtlessness. 

To  conclude,  the  bags  were  sold,  and  the 
buyer  immediately  struck  out  the  name  on  them 
to  substitute  his  own. 

A  careful  sweep  of  the  broom  was  afterward 
given  to  clear  the  scrupulously  clean  deck  of  tiie 
dust  and  odds  and  ends,  while  the  sailors  re» 
turned  merrily  to  play  with  their  parrots  and 
monkeys. 

CHAPTER  V 

tHE  DEATH-BLOW 

One  day,  in  the  first  fortnight  of  June,  as  oH 
Yvonne  was  returning  home,  some  neighbours 
told  her  that  she  had  been  sent  for>y  the  Com- 
missioner from  the  Naval  R^stry  Office.  Of 
course  it  concerned  her  grandson,  but  that  did 
not  frighten  her  in  the  least.  The  families  of 
seafarers  are  used  to  the  Naval  Registry,  and 
she,  the  daughter,  wife,  mother,  and  grandmother 
of  seamen,  had  known  that  office  for  the  pa^ 
sixty  years. 

Doubtless  it  had  to  do  with  his  "delega- 
tion '*  I  or  perhaps  there  was  a  small  prize-monejr 

VOL.  20  143  Romances  8 


In  the  Shadow 

account  from  La  Circe  to  take  through  her 
proxy.  As  she  knew  what  respect  was  due  to 
" Monsieur  le  Commissaire^*  she  put  on  her  best 
gown  and  a  clean  white  cap,  and  set  out  about 
two  o'clock. 

Trotting  along  swiftly  on  the  pathways  of 
the  cliff,  she  neared  Paimpol ;  and  musing  upon 
those  two  months  without  letters,  she  grew  a  bit 
anxious. 

She  met  her  old  sweetheart  sitting  out  at  his 
door.  He  had  greatly  aged  since  the  appearance 
of  the  winter  cold. 

"  Eh,  eh  ?  When  you're  ready,  you  know, 
don't  make  any  ceremony,  my  beauty ! "  That 
"  suit  of  deal "  still  haunted  his  mind. 

The  joyous  brightness  of  June  smiled  around 
her.  On  the  rocky  heights  there  still  grew  the 
stunted  reeds  with  their  yellow  blossoms;  but 
passing  into  the  hollow  no^oks  sheltered  against 
the  bitter  sea  winds,  one  met  with  high  sweet- 
smelling  grass.  But  the  poor  old  woman  did  not 
see  all  this,  over  whose  head  so  many  rapid 
seasons  had  passed,  which  now  se^jned"  as  short 
as  days. 

Around  the  crumbling  hamlet  with  its  gloomy 

walls  grew  roses,  pinks,  and  stocks ;  and  even  up 

on  the  tops  of  the  whitewashed  and  mossy  roofs, 

144 


X 


The  Death  Blow 

sprang  the  flowerets  that  attracted  the  first 
•'  miller  "  butterflies  of  the  season. 

This  spring-time  was  almost  without  love  in 
the  land  of  the  Icelanders,  and  the  beautiful 
lasses  of  proud  race,  who  sa^  out  dreaming  on 
their  doorsteps,  seemed  to  look  far  beyond  the 
visible  things  with  their  blue  or  brown  eyes. 
The  young  men,  who  were  the  objects  of  their 
melancholy  and  desires,  were  remote,  fishing  on 
the  northern  seas. 

But  it  was  a  spring-time  for  all  that — warm, 
sweet,  and  troubling,  with  its  buzzing  of  flies  and 
perfume  of  young  plants. 

And  all  this  soulless  freshness  smiled  upon 
the  poor  old  grandmother,  who  was  quickly 
walking  along  to  hear  of  the  death  of  her  last- 
born  grandson.  She  neared  the  awful  moment 
when  this  event,  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
so  distant  Chinese  seas,  was  to  be  told  to  her ; 
she  was  taking  that  sinister  walk  that  Sylvestre 
had  divined  at  his  death-hour — the  sight  of  that 
had  torn  his  last  agonized  tears  from  him ;  his 
darling  old  granny  summoned  to  Paimpol  to  be 
told  that  he  was  dead !  Clearly  he  had  seen  her 
pass  along  that  road,  running  straight  on,  wi»;h 
her  tiny  brown  shawl,  her  umbrella,  and  lai^ 
head-dress.     And  that  apparition  had  made  him 

145 


In  the  Shadow 

toss  and  writhe  in  fearful  anguish,  while  the  huge, 
red  sun  of  the  Equator,  disappearing  in  its  glory, 
peered  through  the  port-hole  of  the  hospital  to 
watch  him  die.  But  he,  in  his  last  hallucination, 
had  seen  his  old  granny  moving  under  a  rain- 
ladbn  sky,  and  on  the  contrary  a  joyous  laughing 
spring-time  mocked  her  on  all  sides. 

Nearing  Paimpol,  she  became  more  and  more 
uneasy,  and  improved  her  speed.  Now  she  is  ia 
the  gray  town  with  its  narrow  granite  streets, 
where  the  sun  falls,  bidding  good-day  to  some 
other  old  women,  her  contemporaries,  sitting  at 
their  windows.  Astonished  to  see  her,  they 
said  :  "  Wherever  is  she  going  so  quickly,  in  her 
Sunday  gown,  on  a  week-day  ? " 

"Monsieur  le  Commissaire"  of  the  Naval 
Enlistment  Office  was  not  in  just  then.  One 
ugly  little  creature,  about  fifteen  years  old,  who 
was  his  clerk,  sat  at  his  desk.  As  he  was  too 
puny  to  be  a  fisher,  he  had  received  some  educa- 
tion and  passed  his  time  in  that  same  chair,  in 
his  black  linen  dust-sleeves,  scratching  away  at 
paper. 

With  a  look  of  importance,  when  she  had 
said  her  name,  he  got  up  to  get  the  official  docu- 
ments from  off  a  shelf. 

There  were  a  great  many  papers — what  did  it  - 
146 


The  Death-Blow 

all  mean  ?  Parchments,  sealed  papers,  a  sailor's 
record-book,  grown  yellow  on  the  sea,  and  over 
all  floated  an  odour  of  death.  He  spread  them 
all  out  before  the  poor  old  woman,  who  began  to 
tremble  and  feel  dizzy.  She  had  just  recognised 
two  of  the  letters  which  Gaud  used  to  write  for 
her  to  her  grandson,  and  which  were  now  re- 
turned to  her  never  unsealed.  The  same  thing 
had  happened  twenty  years  ago  at  the  death  of 
her  son  Pierre ;  the  letters  had  been  sent  back 
from  China  to  "  Monsieur  le  Commissaire,"  who 
had  given  them  to  her  thus. 

Now  he  was  reading  out  in  a  consequential 
voice  :  "  Moan,  Jean-Marie-Sylvestre,  registered 
at  Paimpol,  folio  213,  number  2091,  died  on 
board  the  Bien  Hoay  on  the  14th  of '* 

"What — what  has  happened  him,  my  good 
sir?" 

**  Discharged— dead,"  he  answered. 

It  wasn*t  because  this  clerk  was  unkind,  but 
if  he  spoke  in  that  brutal  way,  it  was  through 
want  of  judgment,  and  from  lack  of  intelligence 
in  the  little  incomplete  being. 

As  he  saw  that  she  did  not  understand  that 
technical  expression,  he  said  in  Breton  : 

*'Marw  Sof' 

••  Marw  ^of*     (He  is  dead.) 
147 


In  the  Shadow 

She  repeated  the  words  after  him,  in  her  aged 
tremulous  voice,  as  a  poor  cracked  echo  would 
send  back  some  indifferent  phrase.  So  what  she 
had  partly  foreseen  was  true ;  but  it  only  made 
her  tremble  ;  now  that  it  was  certain,  it  seemed  to 
affect  her  no  more.  To  begin  with,  her  faculty 
to  suffer  was  slightly  dulled  by  old  age,  especially 
since  this  last  winter.  Pain  did  not  strike  her 
immediately.  Something  seemed  to  fall  upside 
down  in  her  brain,  and  somehow  or  another  she 
mixed  this  death  up  with  others.  She  had  lost 
so  many  of  them  before.  She  needed  a  moment 
to  grasp  that  this  was  her  very  last  one,  her  dar- 
ling, the  object  of  all  her  prayers,  life,  and  waiting, 
and  of  all  her  thoughts,  already  darkened  by  the 
sombre  approach  of  second  childhood. 

She  felt  a  sort  of  shame  at  showing  her  de- 
spair before  this  little  gentleman  who  horrified  her. 
Was  that  the  way  to  tell  a  grandmother  of  her 
darling's  death  ?  She  remained  standing  before 
the  desk,  stiffened,  and  tearing  the  fringes  of  her 
brown  shawl  with  her  poor  aged  hands,  sore  and 
chapped  with  washing. 

How  far  away  she  felt  from  home !  Good- 
ness !  what  a  long  walk  back  to  be  gone  through, 
and  steadily,  too,  before  nearing  the  whitewashed 

hut  in  which  she  longed  to  shut  herself  up,  like  a 

148 


The  Death-Blow 

wounded  beast  who  hides  in  its  hole  to  die.  And 
so  she  tried  not  to  think  too  much  and  not  to 
understand  yet,  frightened  above  all  at  the  long 
home-journey. 

They  gave  her  an  order  to  go  and  take,  as  the 
heiress,  the  thirty  francs  that  came  from  the 
sale  of  Sylvestre's  bag ;  and  then  the  letters,  the 
certificates,  and  the  box  containing  the  military 
medal. 

She  took  the  whole  parcel  awkwardly  with 
open  fingers,  unable  to  find  pockets  to  put  them  in. 

She  went  straight  through  Paimpol,  looking 
at  no  one,  her  body  bent  slightly  like  one  about 
to  fall,  with  a  rushing  of  blood  in  her  ears ;  press- 
ing and  hurrying  along  like  some  poor  old  ma- 
chine, which  could  not  be  wound  up,  at  a  great 
pressure,  for  the  last  time,  without  fear  of  break- 
ing its  springs. 

At  the  third  mile  she  went  along  quite  bent  in 
two  and  exhausted  ;  from  time  to  time  her  foot 
struck  against  the  stones,  giving  her  a  painful 
shock  up  to  the  very  head.  She  hurried  to  bury 
herself  in  her  home,  for  fear  of  falling  and  having 
to  be  carried  there. 


14^ 


In  the  Shadow 
CHAPTER  VI 

A   CHARITABLE   ASSUMPTION 

"  Old  Yvonne's  tipsy  ! "  was  the  cry. 

She  had  fallen,  and  the  street  children  ran 
after  her.  It  was  just  at  the  boundary  of  the 
parish  of  Ploubazlanec,  where  many  houses  strag- 
gle along  the  roadside.  But  she  had  the  strength 
to  rise  and  hobble  along  on  her  stick. 

"  Old  Yvonne's  tipsy  ! " 

The  bold  little  creatures  stared  her  full  in  the 
face,  laughing.  Her  coiffe  was  all  awry.  Some  of 
these  little  ones  were  not  really  wicked,  and  these, 
when  they  scanned  her  closer  and  saw  the  senile 
grimace  of  bitter  despair,  turned  aside,  surprised 
and  saddened,  daring  to  say  nothing  more. 

At  home,  with  the  door  tightly  closed,  she 
gave  vent  to  the  deep  scream  of  despair  that 
choked  her,  and  fell  down  in  a  comer,  her  head 
against  the  wall.  Her  cap  had  fallen  over  her 
eyes ;  she  threw  off  roughly  what  formerly  had 
been  so  well  taken  care  of.  Her  Sunday  dress 
was  soiled,  and  a  thin  mesh  of  yellowish  white 
hair  strayed  from  beneath  her  cap,  completing  her 
pitiful,  poverty-stricken  disorder. 


150 


The  Comforter 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE  COMFORTER 

Thits  did  Gaud,  coming  in  for  news  in  the 
evening,  find  her ;  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  arms 
hanging  down,  and  her  head  resting  against  the 
stone  wall,  with  a  falling  jaw  grinning,  and  the 
plaintive  whimper  of  a  little  child  ;  she  scarcely 
could  weep  any  more  ;  these  grandmothers,  grown 
too  old,  have  no  tears  left  in  their  dried-up 
eyes. 

"  My  grandson  is  dead  ! "  She  threw  the  let- 
ters, papers,  and  medal  into  her  caller's  lap. 

Gaud  quickly  scanned  the  whole,  saw  the 
news  was  true,  and  fell  on  her  knees  to  pray. 
The  two  women  remained  there  together  almost 
dumb,  through  the  June  gloaming,  which  in  Brit- 
tany is  long  but  in  Iceland  is  never-ending.  On 
the  hearth  the  cricket  that  brings  joy  was  chirp- 
ing his  shrill  music. 

The  dim  dusk  entered  through  the  narrow 
window  into  the  dwelling  of  those  Moans,  who 
had  all  been  devoured  by  the  sea,  and  whose 
family  was  now  extinguished. 

At  last  Gaud  said  :  *'  Fll  come  to  you,  good 
granny,  to  live  with  you  ;  I'll  bring  my  bed  that 

151 


In  the  Shadow 

they've  left  me,  and  I'll  take  care  of  you  and 
nurse  you — ^you  shan't  be  all  alone." 

She  wept,  too,  for  her  little  friend  Sylvestre, 
but  in  her  sorrow  she  was  led  involuntarily  to 
think  of  another — he  who  had  gone  back  to  the 
deep-sea  fishery. 

They  would  have  to  write  to  Yann  and  tell 
him  Sylvestre  was  dead  ;  it  was  just  now  that  the 
fishers  were  starting.  Would  he,  too,  weep  for 
him  ?  Mayhap  he  would,  for  he  had  loved  him 
dearly.  In  the  midst  of  her  own  tears,  Gaud 
thought  a  great  deal  of  him ;  now  and  again 
waxing  wroth  against  that  hard-hearted  fellow, 
end  then  pitying  him  at  the  thought  of  that  pain 
which  would  strike  him  also,  and  which  would  be 
as  a  link  between  them  both— one  way  and  an- 
other, her  heart  was  full  of  him. 


CHAPTER  VUI 

THE  brother's  GRIEF 

One  pale  August  evening,  the  letter  that  an- 
nounced Yann's  brother's  death,  at  length  arrived 
on  board  the  Marie,  upon  the  Iceland  seas;  it 
was  after  a  day  of  hard  work  and  excessive  fatigue, 

just  as  they  were  going  down  to  sup  and  to  rest 

152 


The  Brother's  Grief 

With  eyes  heavy  with  sleep,  he  read  it  in  their 
dark  nook  below  deck,  lit  by  the  yellow  beam  of 
the  small  lamp ;  at  the  first  moment  he  became 
stunned  and  giddy,  like  one  dazed  out  of  fair 
understanding.  Very  proud  and  reticent  in  all 
things  concerning  the  feelings  was  Yann,  and  he 
hid  the  letter  in  his  blue  jersey,  next  his  breast, 
without  saying  anything,  as  sailors  do.  But  he 
did  not  feel  the  courage  to  sit  down  with  the 
others  to  supper,  and  disdaining  even  to  explain 
why,  he  threw  himself  into  his  berth  and  fell 
asleep.  Soon  he  dreamed  of  Sylvestre  dead,  and 
of  bis  funeral  going  by. 

Towards  midnight,  being  in  that  state  of  mind 
that  is  peculiar  to  seamen  who  are  conscious  of 
the  time  of  day  in  their  slumber,  and  quite  clearly 
see  the  hour  draw  nigh  when  to  awaken  for  the 
watch — he  saw  the  funeral,  and  said  to  himself : 
"  I  am  dreaming ;  luckily  the  mate  will  come  and 
wake  me  up,  and  the  vision  will  pass  away." 

But  when  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  him 
and  a  voice  cried  out : "  Tumble  out,  Gaos !  watch, 
hoy  ! "  he  heard  the  slight  rustling  of  paper  at  his 
breast,  a  fine  ghastly  music  that  affirmed  the  fact 
of  the  death.  Yes,  the  letter !  It  was  true,  then  ? 
The  more  cruel,  heartrending  impression  deep- 
ened, and  he  jumped  up  so  quickly  in  his  sudden 
I  I  S3 


In    the  Shadow 

start,  that  he  struck  his  forehead  against  the  over- 
head beam.  He  dressed  and  opened  the  hatch- 
way to  go  up  mechanically  and  take  bis  place  id 
the  fishing. 

CHAPTER  IX 

WORK  CURES  SORROW 

When  Yann  was  on  deck,  he  looked  around 
him  with  sleep-laden  eyes,  over  the  familiar  circle 
of  the  sea  That  night  the  illimitable  immensity 
showed  itself  in  its  most  astonishingly  simple  as- 
pects, in  neutral  tints,  giving  only  the  impression 
«f  depth.  This  horizon,  which  indicated  no  recog- 
nisable region  of  the  earth,  or  even  any  geological 
age,  must  have  looked  so  many  times  the  same 
since  the  origin  of  time,  that,  gazing  upon  it,  one 
saw  nothing  save  the  eternity  of  things  that  exist 
and  cannot  help  existing. 

It  was  not  the  dead  of  night,  for  a  patch  of 
light,  which  seemed  to  ooze  from  no  particular 
point,  dimly  lit  up  the  scene.  The  wind  sobbed 
as  usual  its  aimless  wail.  All  was  gray,  a  fickle 
gray,  which  faded  before  the  fixed  gaze.  The 
sea,  during  its  mysterious  rest,  hid  itself  under 
feeble  tints  without  a  name. 

Above  floated  scattered  clouds ;  they  had  as- 
154 


Work  Cures  Sorrow 

sumed  various  shapes,  for,  without  form,  things 
cannot  exist ;  in  the  darkness  they  had  blended 
together,  so  as  to  form  one  single  vast  veiling. 

But  in  one  particular  spot  of  the  sky,  low 
down  on  the  waters,  they  seemed  a  dark-veined 
marble,  the  streaks  clearly  defined  although  very 
distant ;  a  tender  drawing,  as  if  traced  by  some 
dreamy  hand — some  chance  effect,  not  meant  to 
be  viewed  for  long,  and  indeed  hastening  to  die 
away.  Even  that  alone,  in  the  midst  of  this 
broad  grandeur,  appeared  to  mean  something; 
(Hie  might  think  that  the  sad,  undefined  thought 
of  the  nothingness  around  was  written  there ;  and 
the  sight  involuntarily  remained  fixed  upon  it 

Yann's  dazzled  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the 
outside  darkness,  and  gazed  more  and  more  stead- 
ily upon  that  veining  in  the  sky ;  it  had  now 
taken  the  shape  of  a  kneeling  figure  with  arms  out- 
stretched. He  began  to  look  upon  it  as  a  human 
shadow  rendered  gigantic  by  the  distance  itself. 

In  his  mind,  where  his  indefinite  dreams  and 
primitive  beliefs  still  lingered,  the  ominous  shadow, 
crushed  beneath  the  gloomy  sky,  slowly  coalesced 
with  the  thought  of  his  dead  brother,  as  if  it  were 
a  last  token  from  him. 

He  was  used  to  such  strange  associations  of 
ideas,  that  thrive  in  the  minds  of  children.     But 

»55 


In  the  Shadow 

words,  vague  as  they  may  be,  are  still  too  precise 
to  express  those  feelings ;  one  would  need  that 
uncertain  language  that  comes  in  dreams,  of  which 
upon  awakening,  one  retains  merely  enigmatical, 
senseless  fragments. 

Looking  upon  the  cloud,  he  felt  a  deep  an- 
guish, full  of  unknown  mystery,  that  froze  his 
very  soul ;  he  understood  full  well  now  that  his 
poor  little  brother  would  never  more  be  seen ; 
sorrow,  which  had  been  some  time  penetrating  the 
hard,  rough  rind  of  his  heart,  now  gushed  in  and 
brimmed  it  over.  He  beheld  Sylvestre  again 
with  his  soft  childish  eyes;  at  the  thought  of^ 
embracing  him  no  more,  a  veil  fell  between  his 
eyelids  and  his  eyes,  against  his  will ;  and,  at  first, 
he  could  not  rightly  understand  what  it  was — 
never  having  wept  in  all  his  manhood.  But  the 
tears  began  to  fall  heavily  and  swiftly  down  his 
cheeks,  and  then  sobs  rent  his  deep  chest. 

He  went  on  with  his  fishing,  losing  no  time 
and  speaking  to  no  one,  and  his  two  mates,  though 
hearing  him  in  the  deep  silence,  pretended  not  to 
do  so,  for  fear  of  irritating  him,  knowing  him  to 
be  so  haughty  and  reserved. 

In  his  opinion  death  was  the  end  of  all.  Out 
of  respect  he  often  joined  in  the  family  prayers 
for  the  dead,  but  he  believed  in  no  after-life  of 

10 


Work  Cures  Sorrow 

the  soul..  Between  themselves,  in  their  long 
talks,  the  sailors  all  said  the  same,  in  a  blunt 
taken-for-granted  way,  as  a  well-known  fact ;  but 
it  did  not  stop  them  from  believing  in  ghosts, 
having  a  vague  fear  of  graveyards,  and  an  un- 
limited confidence  in  protecting  saints  and  images, 
and  above  ail  a  deep  respect  for  the  consecrated 
earth  around  the  churches. 

So  Yann  himself  feared  to  be  swallowed  up 
by  the  sea,  as  if  it  would  annihilate  him,  and  the 
thought  of  Sylvestre,  so  far  away  on  the  other 
side  of  the  eaith,  made  his  sorrow  more  dark  and 
desperate.  With  his  contempt  for  his  fellows, 
he  had  no  shame  or  constraint  in  v/eeping,  no 
more  than  if  he  were  alone. 

Around  the  boat  the  chaos  grew  whiter,  al- 
though it  was  only  two  o'clock,  and  at  the  same 
time  it  appeared  to  spread  farther,  hollowing  in 
8U  fearful  manner.  With  that  kind  of  rising  dawn, 
eyes  opened  wider,  and  the  awakened  mind  could 
conceive  better  the  immensity  of  distance,  as  the 
boundaries  of  visible  space  receded  and  widened 
away. 

The  pale  aurora  increased,  seeming  to  come 
in  tiny  jets  with  slight  shocks ;  eternal  things 
seemed  to  light  up  by  sheer  transparency,  as  if 
white-flamed  lamps  had  slowly  been  raised  up  be- 

157 


In  the  Shadow 

hind  the  shapeless  gray  clouds,  and  held  there 
with  mysterious  care,  for  fear  of  disturbing  the 
calm,  even  rest  of  the  sea.  Below  the  horizon 
that  colossal  white  lamp  was  the  sun,  which 
dragged  itself  along  without  strength,  before 
taking  its  leisurely  ascent,  which  began  in  the 
dawn*s  eye  above  the  ocean. 

On  this  day,  the  usual  rosy  tints  were  not 
seen  ;  all  remained  pale  and  mournful.  On  board 
the  gray  ship,  Yann  wept  alone.  The  tears  of 
the  fierce  elder  brother,  together  with  the  melan- 
choly of  this  surrounding  waste,  were  as  mourn- 
mg,  worn  in  honour  of  the  poor,  obscure,  young 
hero,  upon  these  seas  of  Iceland,  where  half  his 
life  had  been  passed. 

When  the  full  light  of  day  appeared,  Yann 
abruptly  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve  and  ceased 
weeping.  That  grief  was  over  now.  He  seemed 
completely  absorbed  by  the  work  of  the  fishery, 
and  by  the  monotonous  routine  of  substantial 
deeds,  as  if  he  never  had  thought  of  anything 
else. 

The  catching  went  on  apace,  and  there  were 
scant  hands  for  the  work.  Around  about  the 
fishers,  in  the  immense  depths,  a  transformation 
scene  was  taking  place.  The  grand  opening  out 
of  the  infinitude,  that  great  wonder  of  the  morn- 

158 


Work   Cures   Sorrow 

ing,  had  finished;  and  the  distance  seemed  to 
diminish  and  close  in  around  them.  How  was 
it  that  before  the  sea  had  seemed  so  boundless ! 

The  horizon  was  quite  near  now,  and  more 
space  seemed  necessary.  The  void  filled  in  with 
flecks  and  streamers  that  floated  above,  some 
vague  as  mist,  others  wuth  visibly  jagged  edges. 
They  fell  softly  amid  an  utter  silence,  like 
snowy  gauze,  but  fell  on  all  sides  together,  so 
that  below  them  suffocation  set  in  swiftly ;  it 
took  away  the  breath  to  see  the  air  so  thickened. 

It  was  the  first  of  the  August  fogs  that  was 
rising.  Jn  a  few  moments  the  winding-sheet  be« 
came  universally  dense ;  all  around  the  Marie  a 
white  damp  lay  under  the  light,  and  in  it  the 
mast  faded  and  disappeared. 

"  Here's  the  cursed  fog  now,  for  sure,"  grum- 
bled the  men.  They  had  long  ago  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  that  compulsory  companion  of  the 
second  part  of  the  fishing  season  ;  but  it  also  an- 
nounced its  end  and  the  time  for  returning  to 
Brittany. 

It  condensed  into  fine,  sparkling  drops  in  their 
beards,  and  shone  upon  their  weather-beaten  faceSe 
Looking  athwart  ship  to  one  another,  they  ap- 
peared dim  as  ghosts  ;  and  by  comparison,  nearer 
objects  were  seen  more  clearly  under  the  colour- 
,  159 


In  the  Shadow 

less  light.  They  took  care  not  to  inhale  the  air  too 
deeply,  for  a  feeling  of  chill  and  wet  penetrated 
the  lungs. 

But  the  fishing  was  going  on  briskly,  so  that 
they  had  no  time  left  to  chatter,  and  they  only 
thought  of  their  lines.  Every  moment  big  heavy 
fish  were  drawn  in  on  deck,  and  slapped  down 
with  a  smack  like  a  whip-crack  ;  there  they  wrig- 
gled about  angrily,  flapping  their  tails  on  the 
deck,  scattering  plenty  of  sea-water  about,  and 
silvery  scales  too,  in  the  course  of  their  death- 
struggle.  The  sailor  who  split  them  open  with 
his  long  knife,  sometimes  cut  his  own  fingers,  in 
his  haste,  so  that  his  warm  blood  mingled  with 
the  brine. 

CHAPTER  X 

THE    WHITE    FOG 

Caught  in  the  fog,  they  remained  ten  days 
in  succession  without  being  able  to  see  anything. 
The  fishing  went  on  handsomely  the  while,  and 
with  so  much  to  do  there  was  no  time  for 
weariness.  At  regular  intervals  one  of  them 
blew  a  long  fog-horn,  whence  issued  a  sound  like 
the  howling  of  a  wild  beast. 

Sometimes,  out  of  the  depths  of  white  fog, 
i6o 


The  White  Fog 

another  bellowing  answered  their  call.  Then  a 
sharper  watch  was  kept.  If  the  blasts  were  ap 
proaching,  all  ears  were  turned  in  the  direction 
of  that  unknown  neighbour,  whom  they  might 
perhaps  never  see,  but  whose  presence  was  never- 
theless a  danger.  Conjectures  were  made  about 
the  strange  vessel ;  it  became  a  subject  of  con- 
versation, a  sort  of  company  for  them  ;  all  long- 
ing to  see  her,  strained  their  eyes  in  vain  efforts 
to  pierce  those  impalpable  white  shrouds. 

Then  the  mysterious  consort  would  depart, 
the  bellowing  of  her  trumpet  fading  away  in  the 
distance,  and  they  would  remain  again  in  the 
deep  hush,  amid  the  infinity  of  stagnant  vapour. 
Everything  was  drenched  with  salt  water ;  the 
cold  became  more  penetrating ;  each  day  the  sun 
took  longer  to  sink  below  the  horizon ;  there 
were  now  real  nights  one  or  two  hours  long,  and 
their  gray  gloaming  was  chilly  and  weird. 
^  Every  morning  they  heaved  the  lead,  through 
fear  that  the  Marie  might  have  run  too  near  the 
Icelandic  coast.  But  all  the  lines  on  board,  fast- 
ened end  to  end,  were  paid  out  in  vain — the  bot- 
tom, could  not  be  touched.  So  they  knew  that 
they  were  well  out  in  blue  water. 

Life  on  board  was  rough  and  wholesome  ;  the 

comfort  in  the  snug  strong  oaken  cabin  below 

i6i 


In   the  Shadow 

was  enhanced  by  the  impression  of  the  piercing 
cold  outside,  when  they  went  down  to  supper  or 
for  rest. 

In  the  daytime,  these  men,  who  were  as  se- 
cluded as  monks,  spoke  but  little  among  them- 
selves. Each  held  his  line,  remaining  for  hours 
and  hours  in  the  same  immovable  position.  They 
were  separated  by  some  three  yards  of  space,  but 
it  ended  in  not  even  seeing  one  another. 

The  calm  of  the  fog  dulled  the  mind.  Fish- 
ing so  lonely,  they  hummed  home  songs,  so  as 
not  to  scare  the  fish  away.  Ideas  came  more 
slowly  and  seldom  ;  they  seemed  to  expand,  fiU- 
mg  in  the  space  of  time,  without  leaving  any 
vacuum.  They  dreamed  of  incoherent  and  mys- 
terious things,  as  if  in  slumber,  and  the  woof  of 
their  dreams  was  as  airy  as  fog  itself. 

This  misty  month  of  August  usually  termi- 
nated the  Iceland  season,  in  a  quiet,  mournful 
way.  Otherwise  the  full  physical  life  was  the 
same,  filling  the  sailors'  lungs  with  rustling  air 
and  hardening  their  already  strong  muscles. 

Yann's  usual  manner  had  returned,  as  if  his 
great  grief  had  not  continued ;  watchful  and 
active,  quick  at  his  fishing  work,  a  happy-go-lucky 
temper,  like  one  who  had  no  troubles ;  commu- 
nicative at  times,  but  very  rarely — and  always 

162 


The  Spectre  Ship 

carrying  his  head  up  high,  with  his  old,   indif- 
ferent, domineering  look. 

At  supper  in  the  rough  retreat,  when  they 
were  all  seated  at  table,  with  their  knives  busy  on 
their  hot  plates,  he  occasionally  laughed  out  as 
he  used  to  do  at  droll  remarks  of  his  mates.  In 
his  inner  self  he  perhaps  thought  of  Gaud,  to 
whom,  doubtless,  Sylvestre  had  plighted  him  in 
his  last  hours  ;  and  she  had  become  a  poor  girl 
now,  alone  in  the  world.  And  above  all,  per- 
haps, the  mourning  for  his  beloved  brother  still 
preyed  upon  his  heart.  But  this  heart  of  his  was 
a  virgin  wilderness,  difficult  to  explore  and  little 
known,  where  many  things  took  place  unrevealed 
on  the  exterior. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    SPECTRE    SHIP 

One  morning,  going  on  three  o'clock,  while 
all  were  dreaming  quietly  under  their  winding- 
sheet  of  fog,  they  heard  something  like  a  clamour 
of  voices — voices  whose  tones  seemed  strange 
and  unfamiliar.  Those  on  deck  looked  at  each 
other  questioningly. 

"  Who's  that  talking  ?  " 

Nobody.     Nobody  had  said  anything.     For 
163 


In  the  Shadow 

that  matter,  the  sounds  had  seemed  to  come  from 
the  outer  void.  Then  the  man  who  had  charge 
of  the  fog-horn,  but  had  been  neglecting  his  duty 
since  overnight,  rushed  for  it,  and  inflating  his 
lungs  to  their  utmost,  sounded  with  all  his  might 
the  long  bellow  of  alarm.  It  was  enough  to 
make  a  man  of  iron  start,  in  such  a  silence. 

As  if  a  spectre  had  been  evoked  by  that 
thrilling,  though  deep-toned  roar,  a  huge  unfore- 
seen gray  form  suddenly  arose  very  loftily  and 
towered  threateningly  right  beside  them ;  masts, 
spars,  rigging,  all  like  a  ship  that  had  taken  sud- 
den shape  in  the  air  instantly,  just  as  a  single 
beam  of  electric  light  evokes  phantasmagoria  on 
the  screen  of  a  magic  lantern.  «^ 

Men  appeared,  almost  close  enough  to  touch 
them,  leaning  over  the  bulwarks,  staring  at  them 
with  eyes  distended  in  the  awakening  of  surprise 
and  dread. 

The  Martens  men  rushed  for  oars,  spars,  boat- 
hooks,  anything  they  could  lay  their  hands  on 
for  fenders,  and  held  them  out  to  shove  off  that 
grisly  thing  and  its  impending  visitors.  Lo ! 
these  others,  terrified  also,  put  out  large  beams 
to  repel  them  likewise. 

But  there  came  only  a  very  faint  creaking  in 

the  topmasts,  as  both  standing  gears  momentarily 

i6/t 


The  Spectre  Ship 

entangled  became  disentangled  without  the  least 
damage ;  the  shock,  very  gentle  in  such  a  calm, 
had  been  almost  wholly  deadened ;  indeed,  it  was 
so  feeble  that  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  other 
ship  had  no  substance,  that  it  was  a  mere  pulp, 
almost  without  weight. 

When  the  fright  was  over,  the  men  began  to 
laugh ;  they  had  recognised  each  other. 

**  La  Marie^  ahoy  !  how  are  ye,  lads  ?  " 

"  Halloa !    Gaos,  Laumec,  Guermeur !  ** 

The  spectre  ship  was  the  Retne-Berihe,  also 
of  Paimpol,  and  so  the  sailors  were  from  neigh- 
bouring villages ;  that  thick,  tall  fellow  with  the 
huge,  black  beard,  showing  his  teeth  when  he 
laughed,  was  Kerj^gou,  one  of  the  Ploudaniel 
boys,  the  others  were  from  Plounes  or  Ploun^rin, 

"  Why  didn't  you  blow  your  fog-horn,  and  be 
blowed  to  you,  you  herd  of  savages  ?  "  challenged 
Larvoer  of  the  Reine-Berthe, 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  why  didn't  you  blow 
yours,  you  crew  of  pirates — ^you  rank  mess  of 
toad-fish  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  with  us,  d'ye  see,  the  sea-law  differs. 
Were  forbidden  to  make  any  noise  /  " 

He  made  this  reply  with  the  air  of  giving  a 
dark  hint,  <ind  a  queer  smile,  which  afterward 
came  back  to  the  memory  of  the  men  of  the 

165 


In  the  Shadow 

Marie,  and  caused  them  a  great  deal  of  thinking. 
Then,  as  if  he  thought  he  had  said  too  much,  he 
concluded  with  a  joke : 

"Our  fog-horn,  d'ye  see,  was  burst  by  this 
rogue  here  a-blowing  too  hard  into  it."  He 
pointed  to  a  sailor  with  a  face  like  a  Triton,  a 
man  all  bull-neck  and  chest,  extravagantly  broad- 
shouldered,  low-set  upon  his  legs,  with  something 
unspeakably  grotesque  and  unpleasant  in  th«  de- 
formity of  strength. 

While  they  were  looking  at  each  other,  wait- 
ing for  breeze  or  undercurrent  to  move  one  ves- 
sel faster  than  the  other  and  separate  them,  a 
general  palaver  began.  Leaning  over  the  side, 
but  holding  each  other  off  at  a  respectable  dis- 
tance with  their  long  wooden  props,  like  besieged 
pikemen  repelling  an  assault,  they  began  to  chat 
about  home,  the  last  letters  received,  and  sweet- 
hearts and  wives. 

"I  say !  my  old  woman,"  said  Kerj^gou. 
••  tells  me  she's  had  the  little  boy  we  were  look- 
ing for ;  that  makes  half -score-two  now ! " 

Another  had    found   himself  the  father  of 

twins;  and  a  third  announced  the  marriage  of 

pretty  Jeannie  CarofF,  a  girl  well  known  to  all 

the  Icelanders,  with  some  rich  and  infirm  old 

resident  of  the  Commune  of  Plourivo.     As  they 

i66 


The  Spectre  Ship 

were  eyeing  each  other  as  if  through  white 
gauze,  this  also  appeared  to  alter  the  sound  of 
the  voices,  which  came  as  if  muffled  and  from 
far  away. 

Meanwhile  Yann  could  not  take  his. eyes  off 
one  of  those  brother  fishermen,  a  little  grizzled 
fellow,  whom  he  was  quite  sure  he  never  had 
seen  before,  but  who  had,  nevertheless,  straight- 
way said  to  him,  '•  How  d'o,  long  Yann?"  with 
all  the  familiarity  of  bosom  acquaintance.  He 
wore  the  provoking  ugliness  of  a  monkey,  with 
an  apish  twinkling  of  mischief  too  in  his  pierc- 
ing eyes. 

*'As  for  me,"  said  LarvoSr,  of  the  Reine* 
Bert  he,  **  I've  been  told  of  the  death  of  the 
grandson  of  old  Yvonne  Moan,  of  Ploubazlanec 
— who  was  serving  his  time  in  the  navy,  you 
know,  in  the  Chinese  squadron — z.  very  great 
pity." 

On  hearing  this,  all  the  men  of  La  Marie 
turned  towards  Yann  to  learn  if  he  already  knew 
anything  of  the  sad  news. 

"  Ay,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice,  but  with 
an  indifferent  and  haughty  air,  "  it  was  told  me 
in  the  last  letter  my  father  sent  me."  They  still 
kept  on  looking  at  him,  curious  at  finding  out 
the  secret  of  his  grief,  and  it  made  him  angry, 

vo^-  20  167  Romances  9 


In  the  Shadow 

These  questions  and  answers  were  rapidly  ex- 
changed through  the  pallid  mists,  so  the  moments 
of  this  peculiar  colloquy  skipped  swiftly  by. 

"  My  wife  wrote  me  at  the  same  time,"  con- 
tinued Larvoer,  **  that  Monsieur  M^vel's  daughter 
has  left  the  town  to  live  at  Ploubazlanec  and  take 
care  of  her  old  grand-aunt — Granny  Moan.  She 
goes  out  to  needlework  by  the  day  now — to  earn 
her  living.  Anyhow,  I  always  thought,  I  did, 
that  she  was  a  good,  brave  girl,  in  spite  of  her  fine- 
lady  airs  and  her  furbelows." 

Then  again  they  all  stared  at  Yann,  which 
made  him  still  more  angry ;  a  red  flush  mounted 
to  his  cheeks,  under  their  tawny  tan. 

With  Larvoer's  expression  of  opinion  about 

Gaud  ended  this  parley  with  the  crew  of  the 

Reine-Berthe,  none  of  whom  were  ever  again  to 

be  seen  by  human  eyes.     For  a  moment  their 

faces  became  more  dim,  their  vessel  being  already 

farther  away ;  and  then,  all  at  once,  the  men  of 

the   Marie  found    they   had    nothing    to   push 

against,  nothing  at  the  end  of  their  poles — all 

spars,  oars,  odds  and  ends  of  deck-lumber,  were 

groping  and  quivering  in  emptiness,  till  they  fell 

heavily,  one  after  the  other,  down  into  the  sea, 

like  their  own  arms,  lopped  off  and  inert. 

They  pulled  all  the  useless  defences  on  board 
i68 


The  Spectre  Ship 

The  Reine-Berthe,  melting  away  into  the  thick 
fog,  had  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  a  painted 
ship  in  a  dissolving  view.  They  tried  to  hail 
her,  but  the  only  response  was  a  sort  of  mocking 
clamour — as  of  many  voices — ending  in  a  moan, 
that  made  them  all  stare  at  each  other  in  sur- 
prise. 

This  Reine-Berthe  did  not  come  back  with 
the  other  Icelandic  fishers ;  and  as  the  men  of 
the  Samuel-Azinide  afterward  picked  up  in 
some  fjord  an  unmistakable  waif  (part  of  her 
taffrail  with  a  bit  of  her  keel),  all  ceased  to  hope ; 
in  the  month  of  October  the  names  of  all  her 
crew  were  inscribed  upon  black  slabs  in  the 
church. 

From  the  very  time  of  that  apparition — the 
date  of  which  was  well  remembered  by  the  men 
of  the  Marie — until  the  time  of  their  return, 
there  had  been  no  really  dangerous  weather  on 
the  Icelandic  seas,  but  a  great  storm  from  the 
west  had,  three  weeks  before,  swept  several 
sailors  overboard,  and  swallowed  up  two  vessels. 
The  men  remembered  Larvoer's  peculiar  smile, 
and  putting  things  together  many  strange  con- 
jectures were  made.  In  the  dead  of  night,  Yann, 
more  than  once,  dreamed  that  he  again  saw  the 

sailor  who  blinked  like  an  ape,  and  some  of  the 

169 


In  the  Shadow 

men  of  the  Marie  wondered  if,  on  that  remem- 
bered morning,  they  had  not  been  talking  with 
ghosts. 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE   STRANGE  COUPLE 

Summer  advanced,  and,  at  the  end  of  August, 
with  the  first  autumnal  mists,  the  Icelanders 
came  home. 

For  the  last  three  months  the  two  lone 
women  had  lived  together  at  Ploubazlanec  in  the 
Moans'  cottage.  Gaud  filled  a  daughter's  place  in 
the  poor  birthplace  of  so  many  dead  sailors.  She 
had  sent  hither  all  that  remained  from  the  sale 
of  her  father's  house  ;  her  grand  bed  in  the  town 
fashion,  and  her  fine,  different  coloured  dresses. 
She  had  made  herself  a  plainer  black  dress,  and 
like  old  Yvonne,  wore  a  mourning  cap,  of  thick 
white  muslin,  adorned  merely  with  simple  plaits. 
Every  day  she  went  out  sewing  at  the  houses  of 
the  rich  people  in  the  town,  and  returned  every 
evening  without  being  detained  on  her  way  home 
by  any  sweetheart.  She  had  remained  as  proud 
as  ever,  and  was  still  respected  as  a  fine  lady  ;  and 
as  the  lads  bade  her  good-night,  they  always  raised 
a  hand  to  their  caps. 

170 


The  Strange  Couple 

Through  the  sweet  evening  twilight,  she 
walked  home  from  Paimpol,  all  along  the  cliff 
road  inhaling  the  fresh,  comforting  sea  air.  Con- 
stant sitting  at  needlework  had  not  deformed  her 
like  many  others,  who  are  always  bent  in  two  over 
their  work — and  she  drew  up  her  beautiful  supple 
form  perfectly  erect  in  looking  over  the  sea,  fairly 
across  to  where  Yann  was  it  seemed. 

The  same  road  led  to  his  home.  Had  she 
walked  on  much  farther,  towards  a  well-known 
rocky  windswept  nook,  she  would  come  to  that 
hamlet  of  Pors-Even,  where  the  trees,  covered 
with  gray  moss,  grew  crampedly  between  the 
stones,  and  are  slanted  over  lowly  by  the  western 
gales.  Perhaps  she  might  never  more  return 
there,  although  it  was  only  a  league  away ;  but 
once  in  her  lifetime  she  had  been  there,  and  that 
was  enough  to  cast  a  charm  over  the  whole  road ; 
and,  besides,  Yann  would  certainly  often  pass  that 
way,  and  she  could  fancy  seeing  him  upon  the 
bare  moor,  stepping  between  the  stumpy  reeds. 

She  loved  the  whole  region  of  Ploubazlanec, 
and  was  almost  happy  that  fate  had  driven  her 
there  ;  she  never  could  have  become  resigned  to 
live  in  any  other  place. 

Towards    this    end    of  August,   a    southern 

warmth,    diffusing    languor,   rises    and    spreads 

171 


In  the  Shadow 

towards  the  north,  with  luminous  afterglows 
and  stray  rays  from  a  distant  sun,  which  float 
over  the  Breton  seas.  Often  the  air  is  calm  and 
pellucid,  without  a  single  cloud  on  high. 

At  the  hour  of  Gaud's  return  journey,  all 
things  had  already  begun  to  fade  in  the  nightfall, 
and  become  fused  into  close,  compact  groups. 
Here  and  there  a  clump  of  reeds  strove  to  make 
way  between  stones,  like  a  battle-torn  flag ;  in  a 
hollow,  a  cluster  of  gnarled  trees  formed  a  dark 
mass,  or  else  some  straw-thatched  hamlet  indented 
the  moor.  At  the  cross-roads  the  images  of 
Christ  on  the  cross,  which  watch  over  and  pro- 
tect the  country,  stretched  out  their  black  arms 
on  their  supports  like  real  men  in  torture  ;  in  the 
distance  the  Channel  appeared  fair  and  calm,  one 
vast  golden  mirror,  under  the  already  darkened 
sky  and  shade-laden  horizon. 

In  this  country  even  the  calm  fine  weather 
was  a  melancholy  thing ;  notwithstanding,  a  vague 
uneasiness  seemed  to  hover  about ;  a  palpable 
dread  emanating  from  the  sea  to  which  so  many 
lives  are  intrusted,  and  whose  everlasting  threat 
only  slumbered. 

Gaud   sauntered  along   as   in  a  dream,   and 

never  found  the  way  long  enough.     The  briny 

smell  of  the  shore,  and  a  sweet  odour  of  flowerets 

172 


The  Strange  Couple 

growing  along  the  cliffs  amid  thorny  bushes, 
perfumed  the  air.  Had  it  not  been  for  Granny 
Yvonne  waiting  for  her  at  home,  she  would  have 
loitered  along  the  reed-strewn  paths,  like  the 
beautiful  ladies  in  stories,  who  dream  away  the 
summer  evenings  in  their  fine  parks. 

Many  thoughts  of  her  early  childhood  came 
back  to  her  as  she  passed  through  the  country ; 
but  they  seemed  so  effaced  and  far  away  now, 
eclipsed  by  her  love  looming  up  between. 

In  spite  of  all,  she  went  on  thinking  of  Yann 
as  engaged  in  a  degree — a  restless,  scornful  be- 
trothed, whom  she  never  would  really  have,  but 
to  whom  she  persisted  in  being  faithful  in  mind, 
without  speaking  about  it  to  any  one.  For  the 
time,  she  was  happy  to  know  that  he  was  off  Ice- 
land ;  for  there,  at  least,  the  sea  would  keep  him 
lonely  in  her  deep  cloisters,  and  he  would  belong 
to  no  other  woman. 

True,  he  would  return  one  of  these  days,  but 
she  looked  upon  that  return  more  calmly  than 
before.4  She  instinctively  understood  that  her 
poverty  would  not  be  a  reason  for  him  to  despise 
her ;  for  he  was  not  as  other  men.  Moreover, 
the  death  of  poor  Sylvestre  would  draw  them 
closer  together.  Upon  his  return,  he  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  come  to  see  his  friend's  old 

173 


In  the  Shadow 

granny ;  and  Gaud  had  decided  to  be  present  at 
that  visit ;  for  it  did  not  seem  to  her  that  it  would 
be  undignified.  Appearing  to  remember  nothing, 
she  would  talk  to  him  as  to  a  long-known  friend ; 
she  would  even  speak  with  affection,  as  was  due 
to  Sylvestre's  brother,  and  try  to  seem  easy  and 
natural.  And  who  knows?  Perhaps  it  would 
not  be  impossible  to  be  as  a  sister  to  him,  now 
that  she  was  so  lonely  in  the  world  ;  to  rely  upon 
his  friendship,  even  to  ask  it  as  a  support,  with 
ijnough  preliminary  explanation  for  him  not  to 
tccuse  her  of  any  after-thought  of  marriage. 

She  judged  him  to  be  untamed  and  stubborn 
in  his  independent  ideas,  yet  tender  and  loyal, 
and  capable  of  understanding  the  goodness  that 
comes  straight  from  the  heart. 

How  would  he  feel  when  he  met  her  again, 
in  her  poor  ruined  home  ?  Very,  very  poor  she 
was — for  Granny  Moan  was  not  strong  enough 
now  to  go  out  washing,  and  only  had  her  small 
widow's  pension  left ;  granted,  she  ate  but  little, 
and  the  two  could  still  manage  to  live,  not  de- 
pendent upon  others. 

Night  was  always  fallen  when  she  arrived 
home ;  before  she  could  enter  she  had  to  go 
down  a  little  over  the  worn  rocks,  for  the  cot- 
tage was  placed  on  an  incline  towards  the  beach, 

174 


The  Strange  Couple 

below  the  level  of  the  Ploubazlanec  roadside.  It 
was  almost  hidden  under  its  thick  brown  straw 
thatch,  and  looked  like  the  back  of  some  huge 
beast,  shrunk  down  under  its  bristling  fur.  Its 
walls  were  sombre  and  rough  like  the  rocks,  but 
with  tiny  tufts  of  green  moss  and  lichens  over 
them.  There  were  three  uneven  steps  before  the 
threshold,  and  the  inside  latch  was  opened  by  a 
length  of  rope-yarn  run  through  a  hole.  Upon 
entering,  the  first  thing  to  be  seen  was  the  win- 
dow, hollowed  out  through  the  wall  as  in  the 
substance  of  a  rampart,  and  giving  view  of  the 
sea,  whence  inflowed  a  dying  yellow  light.  On 
the  hearth  burned  brightly  the  sweet-scented 
branches  of  pine  and  beechwood  that  old  Yvonne 
used  to  pick  up  along  the  way,  and  she  herself 
was  sitting  there,  seeing  to  their  bit  of  supper ; 
indoors  she  wore  a  kerchief  over  her  head  to  save 
her  cap.  Her  still  beautiful  profile  was  outlined 
in  the  red  flame  of  her  fire.  She  looked  up  at 
Gaud.  Her  eyes,  which  formerly  were  brown, 
had  taken  a  faded  look,  and  almost  appeared 
blue ;  they  seemed  no  longer  to  see,  and  were 
troubled  and  uncertain  with  old  age.  Each  day 
she  greeted  Gaud  with  the  same  words  : 

**  Oh,  dear  me !  my  good  lass,  how  late  you 
are  to-night  I " 

1^5 


In  the  Shadow 

**No,  Granny,"  answered  Gaud,  who  was 
used  to  it.  "This  is  the  same  time  as  other 
days." 

"  Eh  ?  It  seemed  to  me,  dear,  later  than 
usual." 

They  sat  down  to  supper  at  their  table,  which 
had  almost  become  shapeless  from  constant  use, 
but  was  still  thick  as  the  generous  slice  of  a  huge 
oak.  The  cricket  began  its  silver-toned  music 
again. 

One  of  the  sides  of  the  cottage  was  filled  up 
by  roughly  sculptured,  worm-eaten  woodwork, 
which  had  an  opening  wherein  were  set  the  sleep- 
ing bunks,  where  generations  of  fishers  had  been 
born,  and  where  their  aged  mothers  had  died. 

Quaint  old  kitchen  utensils  hung  from  the 
black  beams,  as  well  as  bunches  of  sweet  herbs, 
wooden  spoons,  and  smoked  bacon  ;  fishing-nets, 
which  had  been  left  there  since  the  shipwreck  of 
the  last  Moans,  their  meshes  nightly  bitten  by 
the  rats. 

Gaud's  bed  stood  in  an  angle  under  its  white 
muslin  draperies ;  it  seemed  like  a  very  fresh  and 
elegant  modem  invention  brought  into  the  hut 
of  a  Celt. 

On  the  granite  wall  hung  a  photograph  of 

Svlvestre  in  his  sailor  clothes      His  grandmother 

176 


Renewed  Disappointment 

had  fixed  his  military  medal  to  it,  with  his  own 
pair  of  those  red  cloth  anchors  that  French  men- 
of-wars-men  wear  on  their  right  sleeve ;  Gaud 
had  also  bought  one  of  those  funereal  crowns,  of 
black  and  white  beads,  placed  round  the  portraits 
of  the  dead  in  Brittany.  This  represented  Syl- 
vestre's  mausoleum,  and  was  all  that  remained  to 
consecrate  his  memory  in  his  own  land. 

On  summer  evenings  they  did  not  sit  up  late, 
to  save  the  lights ;  when  the  weather  was  fine, 
they  sat  out  a  while  on  a  stone  bench  before  the 
door,  and  looked  at  passers-by  in  the  road,  a  little 
over  their  heads.  Then  old  Yvonne  would  lie 
down  on  her  cupboard  shelf ;  and  Gaud  on  her 
fine  bed,  would  fall  asleep  pretty  soon,  being 
tired  out  with  her  day*s  work,  and  walking,  and 
dreaming  of  the  return  of  the  Icelanders.  Like 
a  wise,  resolute  girl,  she  was  not  too  greatly 
apprehensive. 

CHAPTER  XIII 

RENEWED    DISAPPOINTMENT 

But  one  day  in  Paimpol,  hearing  that  La 
Marie  had  just  got  in,  Gaud  felt  possessed  with 
a  kind  of  fever.  All  her  quiet  composure  dis- 
appeared ;    she   abruptly  finished   up  her  work^ 

177 


In  the  Shadow 

without  quite  knowing  why,  and  set  off  home 
sooner  than  usual. 

Upon  the  road,  as  she  hurried  on,  she  recog- 
nised him,  at  some  distance  off,  coming  towards 
her.  She  trembled  and  felt  her  strength  giving 
way.  He  was  now  quite  close,  only  about  twenty 
steps  off,  his  head  erect  and  his  hair  curling  out 
from  beneath  his  fisher's  cap.  She  was  so  taken 
by  surprise  at  this  meeting,  that  she  was  afraid 
she  might  fall,  and  then  he  would  understand  all; 
she  would  die  of  very  shame  at  it.  She  thought, 
too,  she  was  not  looking  well,  but  wearied  by 
the  hurried  work.  She  would  have  done  any- 
thing to  be  hidden  away  under  the  reeds  or  in 
one  of  the  ferret-holes. 

He  also  had  taken  a  backward  step,  as  if  to 
turn  in  another  direction.  But  it  was  too  late 
now.  Both  met  in  the  narrow  path.  Not  to 
touch  her,  he  drew  up  against  the  bank,  with  a 
side  swerve  like  a  skittish  horse,  looking  at  her 
in  a  wild,  stealthy  way. 

She,  too,  for  one  half  second  looked  up,  and 

in  spite  of  herself  mutely  implored  him,  with  an 

agonized  prayer.      In  that  involuntary  meeting 

of  their  eyes,  swift  as  the  firing  of  a  gun,  these 

gray  pupils  of  hers  had  appeared  to  dilate  and 

light  up  with  some  grand  noble  thought,  which 

178 


Renewed  Disappointment 

flashed  forth  in  a  blue  flame,  while  the  blood 
rushed  crimson  even  to  her  temples  beneath  her 
golden  tresses. 

As  he  touched  his  cap  he  faltered.  "Wish 
you  good-day,  Mademoiselle  Gaud." 

**  Good-day,  Monsieur  Yann,"  she  answered. 

That  was  all.  He  passed  on.  She  went  on 
her  way,  still  quivering,  but  feeling,  as  he  disap- 
peared, that  her  blood  was  slowly  circulating  again 
and  her  strength  returning. 

At  home,  she  found  Granny  Moan  crouching 
in  a  corner  with  her  head  held  between  her  hands, 
sobbing  with  her  childish  "he,  he!"  her  hair 
dishevelled  and  falling  from  beneath  her  cap  like 
thin  skeins  of  gray  hemp. 

**  Oh,  my  kind  Gaud  I  Fve  just  met  young 
Gaos  down  by  Plouherzel  as  I  came  back  from 
my  wood-gathering ;  we  spoke  of  our  poor  lad, 
of  course.  They  arrived  this  morning  from  Ice- 
land, and  in  the  afternoon  he  came  over  to  see 
me  while  I  was  out.  Poor  lad,  he  had  tears  in 
his  eyes,  too.  He  came  right  up  to  my  door, 
my  kind  Gaud,  to  carry  my  little  fagot." 

She  listened,  standing,  while  her  heart  seemed 

almost  to  break ;  so  this  visit  of  Yann*s,  upon 

which  she  had  so  much  relied  for  saying  so  many 

things,  was  already  over,  and  would  doubtless 

179 


In  the  Shadow 

not  occur  again.  It  was  all  done.  Her  poor 
heart  seemed  more  lonely  than  ever,  her  misery- 
harder,  and  the  world  more  empty  ;  and  she  hung 
her  head  with  a  wild  desire  to  die. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   GRANDAM    BREAKING   UP 

Slowly  the  winter  drew  nigh,  and  spread 
over  all  like  a  shroud  leisurely  drawn.  Gray 
days  followed  one  another,  but  Yann  appeared 
no  more,  and  the  two  women  lived  on  in  their 
loneliness.  With  the  cold,  their  daily  existence 
became  harder  and  more  expensive. 

Old  Yvonne  was  difficult  to  tend,  too ;  her 
poor  mind  was  going.  She  got  into  fits  of  tem- 
per now,  and  spoke  wicked,  insulting  speeches 
once  or  twice  every  week ;  it  took  her  so,  like  a 
child,  about  mere  nothings. 

Poor  old  granny  !  She  was  still  so  sweet  in 
her  lucid  days,  that  Gaud  did  not  cease  to  re- 
spect and  cherish  her.  To  have  always  been  so 
good  and  to  end  by  being  bad,  and  show  towards 
the  close  a  depth  of  malice  and  spitefulness  that 
had  slumbered  during  her  whole  life ;  to  use  a 

whole  vocabulary  of  coarse  words  that  she  had 

1 80 


The  Grandam  Breaking  Up 

hidden  ;  what  mockery  of  the  soul !  what  a  de- 
risive mystery !  She  began  to  sing,  too,  which 
was  still  more  painful  to  hear  than  her  angry 
words,  for  she  mixed  everything  up  together — 
the  oremus  of  a  mass  with  refrains  of  loose  songs 
heard  in  the  harbour  from  wandering  sailors. 
Sometimes  she  sang  ^'  Les  Fillettes  de  Paimpol" 
(The  Lasses  of  Paimpol),  or,  nodding  her  head 
and  beating  time  with  her  foot,  she  would 
mutter : 

"  Mon  mari  vient  de  partir ; 
Pour  la  p^che  d'Islande,  mon  mari  vient  de  partir, 
II  m'a  laissee  sans  le  sou, 
Mais — trala,  trala  la  lou, 
J 'en  gagne,  j'en  gagne."  * 

She  always  stopped  short,  while  her  eyes 
opened  wide  with  a  lifeless  expression,  like  those 
dying  flames  that  suddenly  flash  out  before  fading 
away.  She  hung  her  head  and  remained  speech- 
less for  a  great  length  of  time,  her  lower  jaw 
dropping  as  in  the  dead. 

One  day  she  could  remember  nothing  of  her 
grandson.    "  Sylvestre  ?  Sylvestre  ?"  repeated  shej 


*  My  husband  went  of!  sailing 
Upon  the  Iceland  cruise  ; 
But  never  left  me  money, 
Not  e'en  a  couple  sous. 
But — ri  too  loo  !  ri  tooral  loo ! 
/know  what  to  do  ! 
187 


In  the  Shadow 

wondering  whom  Gaud  meant ;  **  oh  !  my  dear, 
a'ye  see,  I've  had  so  many  of  them,  when  I  was^ 
young,  boys  and  girls  together,  that  now  I  can't 
remember  their  names  ! "  ^^ 

So  saying  she  threw  up  her  poor  wrinkled 
hands,  with  a  careless,  almost  contemptuous  toss. 
But  the  next  day  she  remembered  him  quite 
well ;  mentioning  several  things  he  had  said  or 
done,  and  that  whole  day  long  she  wept. 

Oh  !  those  long  winter  evenings  when  there 
was  not  enough  wood  for  their  fire  ;  to  work  in 
the  bitter  cold  for  one's  daily  bread,  sewing  hard 
to  finish  the  clothes  brought  over  from  Paimpol. 

Granny  Yvonne,  sitting  by  the  hearth,  re- 
mained quiet  enough,  her  feet  stuck  in  among 
the  smouldering  embers,  and  her  hands  elapsed 
beneath  her  apron.  But  at  the  beginning  of  the 
evening.  Gaud  always  had  to  talk  to  her  to  cheer 
her  a  little. 

"  Why  don't  ye  speak  to  me,  my  good  girl  ? 
In  my  time  I've  known  many  girls  who  had 
plenty  to  say  for  themselves.  I  don't  think  it 
'ud  seem  so  lonesome,  if  ye'd  only  talk  a  bit." 

So   Gaud   would   tell  her  chit-chat  she  had 

heard  in  town,  or  spoke  of  the  people  she  had 

met  on  her  way  home,  talking  of  things  that 

were  quite  indifferent  to  her,  as  indeed  all  things 

182 


The  Grandam  Breaking  Up 

were  now  ;  and  stopping  in  the  midst  of  her 
stories  when  she  saw  the  poor  old  woman  was 
falling  asleep. 

There  seemed  nothing  lively  or  youthful 
around  her,  whose  fresh  youth  yearned  for 
youth.  Her  beauty  would  fade  away,  lonely  and 
barren.  The  wind  from  the  sea  came  in  from  all 
sides,  blowing  her  lamp  about,  and  the  roar  of  the 
waves  could  be  heard  as  in  a  ship.  Listening, 
the  ever-present  sad  memory  of  Yann  came  to 
her,  the  man  whose  dominion  was  these  bat- 
thng  elements ;  through  the  long  terrible  nights, 
when  all  things  were  unbridled  and  howling 
in  the  outer  darkness,  she  thought  of  him  with 
agony. 

Always  alone  as  she  was,  with  the  sleeping 
old  granny,  she  sometimes  grew  frightened  and 
looked  in  all  dark;  corners,  thinking  of  the  sail- 
ors, her  ancestors,  who  had  lived  in  these  nooks, 
but  perished  in  the  sea  on  such  nights  as  these. 
Their  spirits  might  possibly  return ;  and  she  did 
not  feel  assured  against  the  visit  of  the  dead  by 
the  presence  of  the  poor  old  woman,  who  was 
almost  as  one  of  them  herself. 

Suddenly  she  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  as 
she  heard  a  thin,  cracked  voice,  as  if  stifled  under 
the  earth,  proceed  from  the  chimney  comer. 

183 


In   the  Shadow 

In  a  chirping  tone,  which  chilled  her  very 
soul,  the  voice  sang  : 

"  Pour  la  p6che  d'Islande,  mon  mari  vient  de  partir-, 
II  m'a  laiss^e  sans  le  sou, 
Mais — trala,  trala  la  lou  !  " 

Then  she  was  seized  with  that  peculiar  terror 
that  one  has  of  mad  people. 

The  rain  fell  with  an  unceasing,  fountain-like 
gush,  and  streamed  down  the  walls  outside. 
There  were  oozings  of  water  from  the  old  moss- 
grown  roof,  which  continued  dropping  on  the  self- 
same spots  with  a  monotonous  sad  splash.  They 
even  soaked  through  into  the  floor  inside,  which 
was  of  hardened  earth  studded  with  pebbles  and 
shells. 

Dampness  was  felt  on  all  sides,  wrapping 
them  up  in  its  chill  masses  ;  an  uneven,  buffet- 
ing dampness,  misty  and  dark,  and  seeming  to 
isolate  the  scattered  huts  of  Ploubazlanec  still 
more. 

But  the  Sunday  evenings  were  the  saddest  of 
all,  because  of  the  relative  gaiety  in  other  homes 
on  that  day,  for  there  are  joyful  evenings  even 
among  those  forgotten  hamlets  of  the  coast ; 
here  and  there,  from  some  closed-up  hut,  beaten 
about  by  the  inky  rains,  ponderous  songs  issued. 
Within,  tables  were  spread  for  drinkers ;  sailors 

184 


The  Grandam  Breaking  Up 

sat  before  the  smoking  fire,  the  old  ones  drinking 
brandy  and  the  young  ones  flirting  with  the  girls  ; 
all  more  or  less  intoxicated  and  singing  to  deaden 
thought.  Close  to  them,  the  great  sea,  their 
tomb  on  the  morrow,  sang  also,  filling  the  vacant 
night  with  its  immense  profound  voice. 

On  some  Sundays,  parties  of  young  fellows 
who  came  out  of  the  taverns  or  back  from  Paim- 
pol,  passed  along  the  road,  near  the  door  of  the 
Moans  ;  they  were  such  as  lived  at  the  land's  end 
of  Pors-Even  way.  They  passed  very  late,  caring 
little  for  the  cold  and  wet,  accustomed  as  they 
were  to  frost  and  tempests.  Gaud  lent  her  ear 
to  the  medley  of  their  songs  and  shouts — soon 
lost  in  the  uproar  of  the  squalls  or  the  breakers 
— trying  to  distinguish  Yann's  voice,  and  then 
feeling  strangely  perplexed  if  she  thought  she 
had  heard  it. 

It  really  was  too  unkind  of  Yann  not  to  have 
returned  to  see  them  again,  and  to  lead  so  gay  a 
life  so  soon  after  the  death  of  Sylvestre ;  all  this 
was  unlike  him  !  No,  she  really  could  not  under- 
stand him  now,  but  in  spite  of  all  she  could  not 
forget  him  or  believe  him  to  be  without  heart. 

The  fact  was  that  since  his  return  he  had  been 
leading  a  most  dissipated  life  indeed.  Three  or 
four  times,  on  the   Ploubazlanec  road,  she  had 

185 


In   the   Shadow 

seen  him  coming  towards  her,  but  she  was  al« 
ways  quick  enough  to  shun  him  ;  and  he,  too, 
in  those  cases,  took  the  opposite  direction  over 
the  heath.  As  if  by  a  mutual  understanding, 
now,  they  fled  from  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    NEW    SHIP 

At  Paimpol  lives  a  large,  stout  woman 
named  Madame  Tressoleur.  In  one  of  the 
streets  that  lead  to  the  harbour  she  keeps  a 
tavern,  well  known  to  all  the  Icelanders,  where 
captains  and  ship-owners  come  to  engage  their 
sailors,  and  choose  the  strongest  among  them, 
men  and  masters  all  drinking  together. 

At  one  time  she  had  been  beautiful,  and  was 
still  jolly  with  the  fishers  ;  she  has  a  mustache, 
is  as  broad  built  as  a  Dutchman,  and  as  bold 
and  ready  of  speech  as  a  Levantine.  There  is 
a  look  of  the  daughter  of  the  regiment  about 
her,  notwithstanding  her  ample  nun-like  mus- 
lin headgear  ;  for  all  that,  a  religious  halo  of 
its  sort  floats  around  her,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  she  is  a  Breton  born. 

The  names  of  all  the  sailors  in  the  country 
i86 


The  New  Ship 

are  written  in  her  head  as  in  a  register;  she 
knows  them  all,  good  or  bad,  and  knows  exactly, 
too,  what  they  earn  and  what  they  are  worth. 

One  January  day.  Gaud,  who  had  been  called 
in  to  make  a  dress,  sat  down  to  work  in  a  room 
behind  the  tap-room. 

To  go  into  the  abode  of  our  Madame  Tresso- 
leur,  you  enter  by  a  broad,  massive-pillared  door, 
which  recedes  in  the  olden  style  under  the  first 
floor.  When  you  go  to  open  this  door,  there  is 
always  some  obliging  gust  of  wind  from  the 
street  that  pushes  it  in,  and  the  new-comers 
make  an  abrupt  entrance,  as  if  carried  in  by  a 
beach  roller.  The  hall  is  deep  and  low,  is  white- 
washed, and  is  adorned  by  gilt  frames,  containing 
pictures  of  ships  and  wrecks.  In  an  angle  a 
china  statuette  of  the  Virgin  is  placed  on  a 
bracket,  between  two  bunches  of  artificial  flowers. 

These  olden  walls  must  have  listened  to  many 

powerful  songs  of  sailors,  and  witnessed  many 

wild  gay  scenes,  sinCv^  the  first  far-off  days  of 

Paimpol — all  through   the  lively  times  of  the 

privateers,  up  to  these  of  the  present  Icelanders, 

so  very  little   different    from    their    ancestors. 

Many  lives  of  men  have  been  angled  for  and 

hooked  there,  on  the  oaken  tables,  between  two 

drunken  bouts. 

187 


In  the  Shadow 

While  she  was  sewing  the  dress,  Gaud  lent 
her  ear  to  the  conversation  going  on  about  Ice- 
land, behind  the  partition,  between  Madame 
Tressoleur  and  two  old  sailors,  drinking.  They 
were  discussing  a  new  craft  that  was  being  rigged 
in  the  harbour.  She  never  would  be  ready  for 
the  next  season,  so  they  said  of  this  Liopoldine. 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  she  will ! "  answered  the 
hostess.  **  I  tell  *ee  the  crew  was  all  made  up 
yesterday — the  whole  of  'em  out  of  the  old  Marie 
of  Guermeur's,  that's  to  be  sold  for  breaking  up ; 
five  young  fellows  signed  their  engagement  here 
before  me,  at  this  here  table,  and  with  my  own 
pen — so  ye  see,  I'm  right!  And  fine  fellows, 
too,  I  can  tell  'ee ;  Laumec,  Tugdual  Caroff, 
Yvon  Duff,  young  Keraez  from  Tr6guier,  and 
long  Yann  Gaos  from  Pors-Even,  who's  worth 
any  three  on  'em  ! " 

The  Liopoldine  /  The  half-heard  name  of  the 
ship  that  was  to  carry  Yann  away  became  sud- 
denly fixed  in  her  brain^  as  if  it  had  been  ham- 
mered in  to  remain  more  ineffaceably  there. 

At   night  back   again  at   Ploubazlanec,  and 

finishing  off  her  work  by  the  light  of  her  pitiful 

lamp,  that  name  came  back  to  her  mind,  and  its 

very  sound  impressed  her  as  a  sad  thing.     The 

names  of  vessels,  as  of  things,  have  a  significance 

i88 


The  New  Ship 

in  themselves — almost  a  particular  meaning  of 
their  own.  The  new  and  unusual  word  haunted 
her  with  an  unnatural  persistency,  like  some 
ghastly  and  clinging  warning.  She  had  expected 
to  see  Yann  start  off  again  on  the  Marie,  which 
she  knew  so  well  and  had  formerly  visited,  and 
whose  Virgin  had  so  long  protected  its  danger- 
ous voyages ;  and  the  change  to  the  L^opoldine 
increased  her  anguish. 

But  she  told  herself  that  that  was  not  her 
concern,  and  nothing  about  him  ought  ever  to 
affect  her.  After  all,  what  could  it  matter  to 
her  whether  he  were  here  or  there,  on  this  ship 
or  another,  ashore  or  not  ?  Would  she  feel  less 
miserable  with  him  back  in  Iceland,  when  the 
summer  would  return  over  the  deserted  cottages, 
and  lonely  anxious  women — or  when  a  new  au- 
tumn came  again,  bringing  home  the  fishers  once 
more?  All  that  was  alike  indifferent  to  her, 
equally  without  joy  or  hope.  There  was  no  link 
between  them  now,  nothing  ever  to  bring  them 
together,  for  was  he  not  forgetting  even  poor  little 
Sylvestre?  So,  she  had  plainly  to  understand 
that  this  sole  dream  of  her  life  was  over  for  ever ; 
she  had  to  forget  Yann,  and  all  things  appertain- 
ing to  his  existence,  even  the  very  name  of  Ice- 
land, which  still  vibrated  in  her  with  so  painful 

i8$ 


In  the  Shadow 

a  charm — because  of  him  all  such  thoughts  must 
be  swept  away.  All  was  indeed  over,  for  ever 
and  ever. 

She  tenderly  looked  over  at  the  poor  old 
woman  asleep,  who  still  required  all  her  atten- 
tion, but  who  would  soon  die.  Then,  what 
would  be  the  good  of  living  and  working  after 
that ;  of  what  use  would  she  be  ? 

Out  of  doors,  the  western  wind  had  again 
risen ;  and,  notwithstanding  its  deep  distant 
soughing,  the  soft  regular  patter  of  the  eaves- 
droppings  could  be  heard  as  they  dripped  from 
the  roof.  And  so  the  tears  of  the  forsaken  one 
began  to  flow — ^tears  running  even  to  her  lips  to 
impart  their  briny  taste,  and  dropping  silently  on 
ber  work,  like  summer  showers  brought  by  no 
breeze,  but  suddenly  falling,  hurried  and  heavy, 
from  the  over-laden  clouds;  as  she  could  no 
longer  see  to  work,  and  she  felt  worked  out  and 
discouraged  before  this  great  hollowness  of  her 
life,  she  folded  up  the  extra-sized  body  of  Ma- 
dame Tressoleur  and  went  to  bed. 

She  shivered  upon  that  fine,  grand  bed,  for, 
like  all  things  in  the  cottage,  it  seemed  also  to 
be  getting  colder  and  damper.  But  as  she  was 
very  young,  although  she  still  continued  weeping, 
k  ended  bv  her  growing  warm  and  falling  asleepi 

190 


Lone  and  Lorn 

CHAPTER  XVI 

LONE    AND     LORN 

Other  sad  weeks  followed  on,  till  it  was 
early  February,  fine,  temperate  weather.  Yann 
had  just  come  from  his  shipowner's,  where  he 
had  received  his  wages  for  the  last  summer's 
fishery,  fifteen  hundred  francs,  which,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  family,  he  carried  to  his 
mother.  The  catch  had  been  a  good  one,  and 
he  returned  well  pleased. 

Nearing  Ploubazlanec,  he  spied  a  crowd  by 
the  side  of  the  road.  An  old  woman  was  ges- 
ticulating with  her  stick,  while  the  street  boys 
mocked  and  laughed  around  her.  It  was  Granny 
Moan.  The  good  old  granny  whom  Sylvestre 
had  so  tenderly  loved — her  dress  torn  and  be- 
draggled— had  now  become  one  of  those  poor 
old  women,  almost  fallen  back  in  second  child- 
hood, who  are  followed  and  ridiculed  along  their 
roads.     The  sight  hurt  him  cruelly. 

The  boys  of  Ploubazlanec  had  killed  her  cat, 
and  she  angrily  and  despairingly  threatened  them 
with  her  stick.  "  Ah,  if  my  poor  lad  had  only 
been  here  !  for  sure,  you'd  never  dared  do  it,  you 
young  rascals  1 " 

VOL.  20  191  Romances  10 


In  the  Shadow 

It  appeared  that  as  she  ran  after  them  to  beat 
them,  she  had  fallen  down  ;  her  cap  was  awry, 
and  her  dress  covered  with  mud  ;  they  called  out 
that  she  was  tipsy  (as  often  happens  to  those 
poor  old  "  grizzling  "  people  in  the  country  who 
have  met  misfortune). 

But  Yann  clearly  knew  that  that  was  not 
true,  and  that  she  was  a  very  respectable  old 
woman,  who  only  drank  water. 

"  Aren*t  you  ashamed  ?  "  roared  he  to  the  boys. 

He  was  very  angry,  and  his  voice  and  tone 
frightened  them,  so  that  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  they  all  took  flight,  frightened  and  confused 
before  "  Long  Gaos." 

Gaud,  who  was  just  returning  from  Paimpol, 

bringing  home  her  work  for  the  evening,  had 

seen  all  this  from  afar,  and  had  recognised  Granny 

in  the  group.      She  eagerly  rushed  forward  to 

learn  what  the  matter  was,  and  what  they  had 

done  to  her;  seeing  the  cat,  she  understood  it 

all.     She  lifted  up  her  frank  eyes  to  Yann,  who 

did  not  look  aside ;  neither  thought  of  avoiding 

each  other  now ;  but  they  both  blushed  deeply 

and  they  gazed  rather  startled  at  being  so  near 

one  another;   but  without  hatred,   almost  with 

affection,  united  as  they  were  in  this  common 

impulse  of  pity  and  protection. 

1192 


Lone  and  Lorn 

The  school-children  had  owed  a  grudge  to 
the  poor  dead  grimalkin  for  some  time,  because 
he  had  a  black,  satanic  look ;  though  he  was  really 
a  very  good  cat,  and  when  one  looked  closely 
at  him,  he  was  soft  and  caress-inviting  of  coat. 
They  had  stoned  him  to  death,  and  one  of  his 
eyes  hung  out.  The  po6r  old  woman  went  on 
grumbling,  shaking  with  emotion,  and  carrying 
her  dead  cat  by  the  tail,  like  a  dead  rabbit. 

"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !  my  poor  boy,  my  poor 
lad,  if  he  were  only  here ;  for  sure,  they'd  never 
dared  a-do  it." 

Tears  were  falling  down  in  her  poor  wrinkles ; 
and  her  rough  blue-veined  hands  trembled. 

Gaud  had  put  her  cap  straight  again,  and  tried 
to  comfort  her  with  soothing  words.  Yann  was 
quite  indignant  to  think  that  little  children  could 
be  so  cruel  as  to  do  such  a  thing  to  a  poor  aged 
woman  and  her  pet.  Tears  almost  came  into  his 
eyes,  and  his  heart  ached  for  the  poor  old  dame 
as  he  thought  of  Sylvestre,  who  had  loved  her  so 
dearly,  and  the  terrible  pain  it  would  have  been 
to  him  to  see  her  end  thus,  under  derision  and  in 
misery. 

Gaud  excused  herself  as  if  she  were  respon- 
sible for  her  state.  **  She  must  have  fallen  down," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice ;  "  'tis  true  her  dress  isn't 

193 


In  the  Shadow 

new,  for  we're  not  very  rich,  Monsieur  Yann ; 
but  I  mended  it  again  only  yesterday,  and  this 
morning  when  I  left  home  I'm  sure  she  was  neat 
and  tidy." 

He  looked  at  her  steadfastly,  more  deeply 
touched  by  that  simple  excuse  than  by  clever 
phrases  or  self-reproaches  and  tears.  Side  by 
side  they  walked  on  to  the  Moans'  cottage.  He 
always  had  acknowledged  her  to  be  lovelier  than 
any  other  girl,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  she 
was  even  more  beautiful  now  in  her  poverty  and 
mourning.  She  wore  a  graver  look,  and  her 
gray  eyes  had  a  more  reserved  expression,  and 
nevertheless  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  inner 
depth  of  the  soul.  Her  figure,  too,  was  thor- 
oughly formed.  She  was  twenty-three  now,  in 
the  full  bloom  of  her  loveliness.  She  looked 
like  a  genuine  fisher's  daughter,  too,  in  her  plain 
black  gown  and  cap ;  yet  one  could  not  precisely 
tell  what  gave  her  that  unmistakable  token  of 
the  lady  ;  it  was  involuntary  and  concealed  with- 
in herself,  and  she  could  not  be  blamed  for  it ; 
only  perhaps  her  bodice  was  a  trifle  nicer  fitting 
than  the  others,  though  from  sheer  inborn  taste, 
and  showed  to  advantage  her  rounded  bust  and 
perfect  arms.  But,  no !  the  mystery  was  re- 
vealed in  her  quiet  voice  and  look. 

194 


The  Espousal 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   ESPOUSAL 

It  was  manifest  that  Yann  meant  to  accom- 
pany them  ;  perhaps  all  the  way  home.  They 
walked  on,  all  three  together,  as  if  following  the 
cat's  funeral  procession ;  it  was  almost  comical 
to  watch  them  pass;  and  the  old  folks  on  the 
doorsteps  grinned  at  the  sight.  Old  Yvonne,  in 
the  middle,  carried  the  dead  pet ;  Gaud  walked 
on  her  right,  trembling  and  blushing,  and  tall 
Yann  on  the  left,  grave  and  haughty. 

The  aged  woman  had  become  quiet  now; 
she  had  tidied  her  hair  up  herself  and  walked 
silently,  looking  alternately  at  them  both  from 
the  tail  of  her  eyes,  which  had  become  clear 
again. 

Gaud  said  nothing  for  fear  of  giving  Yann 
the  opportunity  of  taking  his  leave ;  she  would 
have  liked  to  feel  his  kind,  tender  eyes  eternally 
on  her,  and  to  walk  along  with  her  own  closed 
so  as  to  think  of  nothing  else  ;  to  wander  along 
thus  by  his  side  in  the  dream  she  was  weaving, 
instead  of  arriving  so  soon  at  their  lonely,  dark 
cottage,  where  all  must  fade  away. 

At  the  door  occurred  one  of  those  moments 
195 


In  the  Shadow 

of  indecision  when  the  heart  seems  to  stop  beat' 
ing.  The  grandam  went  in  without  turning 
round,  then  Gaud,  hesitating,  and  Yann,  behind, 
entered,  too. 

He  was  in  their  home  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life — probably  without  any  reason.  What  could 
he  want  ?  As  he  passed  over  the  threshold  he 
touched  his  hat,  and  then  his  eyes  fell  and  dwelt 
upon  Sylvestre's  portrait  in  its  small  black-beaded 
frame.     He  went  slowly  up  to  it,  as  to  a  tomb. 

Gaud  remained  standing  with  her  hands  rest- 
ing on  the  table.  He  looked  around  him  ;  she 
watched  him  take  a  silent  inspection  of  their 
poverty.  Very  poor  looked  this  cottage  of  the 
two  forsaken  women.  At  least  he  might  feel 
some  pity  for  her,  seeing  her  reduced  to  this 
misery  inside  its  plain  granite  and  whitewash. 
Only  the  fine  white  bed  remained  of  all  past 
splendour,  and  involuntarily  Yann's  eyes  rested 
there. 

He  said  nothing.    Why  did  he  not  go  ?    The 

old  grandmother,  although  still  so  sharp  in  her 

lucid  intervals,  appeared  not  to  notice  him.    How 

odd  !    So  they  remained  over  against  one  another, 

seeming  respectively  to  question  with  a  yearning 

desire.     But  the  moments  were  flitting,  and  each 

second  seemed  to  emphasize  the  silence  between 

196 


The  Espousal 

them.  They  gazed  at  one  another  more  and 
more  searchingly,  as  if  in  solemn  expectation  of 
some  wonderful,  exquisite  event,  which  was  too 
long  in  coming. 

"  Gaud,"  he  began,  in  a  low  grave  voice,  "  if 
you're  still  of  a  mind  now " 

What  was  he  going  to  say  ?  She  felt  instinc- 
tively that  he  had  suddenly  taken  a  mighty  reso- 
lution— rapidly  as  he  always  did,  but  hardly  dared 
word  it. 

"  If  you  be  still  of  a  mind — d'ye  see,  the  fish 
has  sold  well  this  year,  and  I've  a  little  money 
ahead " 

"  If  she  were  still  of  a  mind  ! "  What  was  he 
asking  of  her  ?  Had  she  heard  aright  ?  She 
felt  almost  crushed  under  the  immensity  of  what 
she  thought  she  premised. 

All  the  while,  old  Yvonne,  in  her  corner, 
pricked  up  her  ears,  feeling  happiness  approach. 

**  We  could  make  a  splice  on  it — a  marriage, 
right  off.  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  if  you  are  still  of 
the  same  mind  ?  " 

He  listened  here  for  her  answer,  which  did 
not  come.  What  could  stop  her  from  pronounc- 
ing that  "yes?"  He  looked  astonished  and 
frightened,  she  could  see  that.   Her  hands  clutched 

the  table  edge.     She  had  turned  quite  white  and 

197 


In  the  Shadow 

her  eyes  were  misty  ;    she  was  voiceless,  and 
looked  like  some  maid  dying  in  her  flower. 

"Well,  Gaud,  why  don't  you  answer ?**  said 
Granny  Yvonne,  who  had  risen  and  come  towards 
them.  ••  Don't  you  see,  it  rather  surprises  her, 
Monsieur  Yann.  You  must  excuse  her.  She'll 
think  it  over  and  answer  you  later  on.  Sit  you 
down  a  bit.  Monsieur  Yann,  and  take  a  glass  of 
cider  with  us." 

It  was  not  surprise,  but  ecstasy  that  pre- 
vented Gaud  from  answering;  no  words  at  all 
came  to  her  relief.  So  it  really  was  true  that  he 
was  good  and  kind-hearted.  She  knew  him 
aright — ^the  same  true  Yann,  her  own,  such  as 
she  never  had  ceased  to  see  him,  notwithstand- 
ing his  sternness  and  his  rough  refusal.  For  a 
long  time  he  had  disdained  her,  but  now  he  ac- 
cepted her,  although  she  was  poor.  No  doubt  it 
had  been  his  wish  all  through  ;  he  may  have  had 
a  motive  for  so  acting,  which  she  would  know 
hereafter ;  but,  for  the  present,  she  had  no  inten- 
tion of  asking  him  his  meaning,  or  of  reproach- 
ing him  for  her  two  years  of  pining.  Besides, 
all  that  was  past,  ay,  and  forgotten  now  ;  in  one 
single  moment  everything  seemed  carried  away 
before  the  delightful  whirlwind  that  swept  ovei 
her  life ! 

198 


The  Espousal 

Still  speechless,  she  told  him  of  her  great 
love  and  adoration  for  him  by  her  sweet  brim- 
ming eyes  alone ;  she  looked  deeply  and 
steadily  at  him,  while  the  copious  shower  of 
happy  tears  poured  adown  her  roseate  cheeks. 
"  Well  done !  and  God  bless  you,  my  chil- 
dren," said  Granny  Moan.  **  It*s  thankful  I  be 
to  Him,  too,  for  I'm  glad  to  have  been  let  grow 
so  old  to  see  this  happy  thing  afore  I  go." 

Still  there  they  remained,  standing  before 
one  another  with  clasped  hands,  finding  no 
words  to  utter ;  knowing  of  no  word  sweet 
enough,  and  no  sentence  worthy  to  break  that 
exquisite  silence. 

**  Why  don't  ye  kiss  one  another,  my  chil- 
dren ?  Lor* !  but  they're  dumb !  Dear  me, 
what  strange  grandchildren  I  have  here ! 
Pluck  up.  Gaud ;  say  some'at  to  him,  my 
dear.  In  my  time  lovers  kissed  when  they 
plighted  their  troth." 

Yann  raised  his  hat,  as  if  suddenly  seized 
with  a  vast,  heretofore  unfelt  reverence,  before 
bending  down  to  kiss  Gaud.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  this  was  the  first  kiss  worthy  of  the  name 
he  ever  had  given  in  his  life. 

She  kissed  him  also,  pressing  her  fresh 
lips,  unused  to  refinements  of  caresses,  with 
her  whole  heart,  to  his  sea  bronzed  cheek. 

199 


In  the  Shadow 

Among  the  stones  the  cricket  sang  of  happi- 
ness, being  right  for  this  time.  And  Sylvestre*s 
pitiful  insignificant  portrait  seemed  to  smile  on 
them  out  of  its  black  frame.  All  things,  in  fact, 
seemed  suddenly  to  throb  with  life  and  with  joy 
in  the  blighted  cottage.  The  very  silence  appar- 
ently burst  into  exquisite  music ;  and  the  pale 
winter  twilight,  creeping  in  at  the  narrow  win- 
dow, became  a  wonderful,  unearthly  glow. 

**  So  we'll  go  to  the  wedding  when  the  Ice- 
landers return  ;  eh,  my  dear  children  ?  " 

Gaud  hung  her  head.  "  Iceland,"  the  "  Lio- 
poldine " — so  it  was  all  real !  while  she  had  al- 
ready forgotten  the  existence  of  those  terrible 
things  that  arose  in  their  way. 

"When  the  Icelanders  return." 

How  long  that  anxious  summer  waiting  would 
seem ! 

Yann  drummed  on  the  floor  with  his  foot 
feverishly  and  rapidly.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
great  hurry  to  be  oif  and  back,  and  was  telling 
the  days  to  know  if,  without  losing  time,  they 
would  be  able  to  get  married  before  his  sailing. 
So  many  days  to  get  the  official  papers  filled  and 
signed  ;  so  many  for  the  banns :  that  would  only 
bring  them  up  to  the  twentieth  or  twenty-fifth 
of  the  month  for  the  wedding,  and  if  nothing 

200  ^ 


The  Espousal 

rose  in  the  way,  they  could  have  a  whole  honey- 
moon week  together  before  he  sailed. 

"Fm  going  to  start  by  telling  my  father/' 
said  he,  with  as  much  haste  as  if  each  moment 
of  their  lives  were  now  numbered  and  precious. 


301 


PART  IV 
YANN'S  FIRST  WEDDING 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   COURTING   BY   THE   SEA 

All  sweethearts  like  to  sit  on  the  bench  at 
their  cottage  door,  when  night  falls. 

Yann  and  Gaud  did  that  likewise.  Every 
evening  they  sat  out  together  before  the  Moans* 
cottage,  on  the  old  granite  seat,  and  talked  love. 

Others  have  the  spring-time,  the  soft  shadow 
of  the  trees,  balmy  evenings,  and  flowering  rose- 
bushes; they  had  only  the  February  twilight, 
which  fell  over  the  sea-beaten  land,  strewn  with 
eel-grass  and  stones.  There  was  no  branch  of 
verdure  above  their  heads  or  around  them  ;  noth- 
ing but  the  immense  sky,  over  which  passed  the 
slowly  wandering  mists.  And  their  flowers  were 
brown  sea-weeds,  drawn  up  from  the  beach  by 
the  fishers,  as  they  dragged  their  nets  along. 

The  winters  are  not  very  severe  in  this  part 

of  the  country,  being  tempered  by  currents  of 

the  sea  ;  but,  notwithstanding  that,  the  gloaming 

was  often  laden  with  invisible  icy  rain,  which  fell 

upon  their  shoulders  as  they  sat  together.     But 

205 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

they  remained  there,  feeling  warm  and  happy. 
The  bench,  which  was  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old,  did  not  seem  in  the  least  surprised  at  their 
love,  having  seen  many  other  pairs  in  its  time ; 
it  had  listened  to  many  soft  words,  which  are 
always  the  same  on  the  lips  of  the  young,  from 
generation  to  generation;  and  it  had  become 
used  to  seeing  lovers  sit  upon  it  again,  when  they 
returned  to  it  old  and  trembling;  but  in  the 
broad  day,  this  time,  to  warm  themselves  in  the 
last  sun  they  would  see. 

From  time  to  time  Granny  Moan  would  put 
her  head  out  at  the  door  to  have  a  look  at  them, 
and  try  to  induce  them  to  come  in.  **  You'll 
catch  cold,  my  good  children,"  said  she,  **and 
then  you'll  fall  ill — Lord  knows,  it  really  isn't 
sensible  to  remain  out  so  late." 

Cold  !  they  cold  ?  Were  they  conscious  of 
anything  else  besides  the  bliss  of  being  together  ? 

The   passers-by  in   the  evening   down   their 

pathway,  heard  the  soft  murmur  of  two  voices 

mingling    with    the    voice    of    the    sea,    down 

below  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs.     It  was  a  most 

harmonious   music ;    Gaud's   sweet,    fresh   voice 

alternated  with  Yann's,  which  had  soft,  caressing 

notes  in  the  lower  tones.     Their  profiles  could 

be    clearly   distinguished   on    the    granite   wall 

206 


The  Seaman's  Secret 

against  which  they  reclined ;  Gaud  with  her 
white  headgear  and  slender  black-robed  figure, 
and  beside  her  the  broad,  square  shoulders  of  her 
beloved.  Behind  and  above  rose  the  ragged 
dome  of  the  straw  thatch,  and  the  darkening, 
infinite,  and  colourless  waste  of  the  sea  and  sky 
floated  over  all. 

Finally,  they  did  go  in  to  sit  down  by  the 
hearth,  whereupon  old  Yvonne  immediately  nod- 
ded off  to  sleep,  and  did  not  trouble  the  two 
lovers  very  much.  So  they  went  on  communing 
in  a  low  voice,  having  to  make  up  for  two  years 
of  silence ;  they  had  to  hurry  on  their  courtship 
because  it  was  to  last  so  Short  a  time. 

It  was  arranged  that  they  were  to  live  with 
Granny  Moan,  who  would  leave  them  the  cot- 
tage in  her  will ;  for  the  present,  they  made  no 
alterations  in  it,  for  want  of  time,  and  put  off 
their  plan  for  embellishing  their  poor  lonely 
home  until  the  fisherman's  return  from  Iceland 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    seaman's    secret 

One   evening  Yann  amused  himself  by  re- 
lating to  his  affianced  a  thousand  things  she  had 

207 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

done,  or  which  had  happened  to  her  since  their 
first  meeting ;  he  even  enumerated  to  her  the 
different  dresses  she  had  had,  and  the  jollifica- 
tions to  which  she  had  been. 

She  listened  in  great  surprise.  How  did  he 
know  all  this  ?  Who  would  have  thought  of  a 
man  ever  paying  any  attention  to  such  matters, 
and  being  capable  of  remembering  so  clearly  ? 

But  he  only  smiled  at  her  in  a  mysterious 
way,  and  went  on  mentioning  other  facts  to  her 
that  she  had  altogether  forgotten. 

She  did  not  interrupt  him  ;  nay,  she  but  let 
him  continue,  while  an  unexpected  delicious  joy 
welled  up  in  her  heart ;  she  began,  at  length,  to 
divine  and  understand  everything.  He,  too,  had 
loved — loved  her,  through  that  weary  time.  She 
had  been  his  constant  thought,  as  he  was  guile- 
lessly confessing.  But,  in  this  case,  what  had 
been  his  reason  for  repelling  her  at  first  and 
making  her  suffer  so  long  ? 

There  always  remained  this  mystery  that  he 
had  promised  to  explain  to  her — ^yet  still  seemed 
to  elude — with  a  confused,  incomprehensible 
smile. 


208 


The  Ominous  Wedding-Dress 

^  CHAPTER   III 

THE    OMINOUS   WEDDING-DRESS 

One  fine  day,  the  loving  pair  went  over  to 
Paimpol,  with  Granny  Moan,  to  buy  the  wed- 
ding-dress. 

Gaud  could  very  easily  have  done  over  one 
of  her  former  town-lady's  dresses  for  the  occa- 
sion. But  Yann  had  wanted  to  make  her  this 
present,  and  she  had  not  resisted  too  long  the 
having  a  dress  given  by  her  betrothed,  and  paid 
for  by  the  money  he  had  earned  at  his  fishing ; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  were  already  his  wife  by  this 
act. 

They  chose  black,  for  Gaud  had  not  yet  left 
off  mourning  for  her  father  ;  but  Yann  did  not 
find  any  of  the  stuffs  they  placed  before  them 
good  enough.  He  was  not  a  little  overbearing 
with  the  shopman  ;  he,  who  formerly  never  would 
have  set  his  foot  inside  a  shop,  wanted  to  man- 
age everything  himself,  even  to  the  very  fashion 
of  the  dress.  He  wished  it  adorned  with  broad 
bands  of  velvet,  so  that  it  would  be  very  fine,  in. 
his  mind. 


209 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

CHAPTER   IV 

FLOWER   OF   THE   THORN 

One  evening  as  these  lovers  sat  out  on  their 
stone  bench  in  the  solitude  over  which  the  night 
fell,  they  suddenly  perceived  a  hawthorn  bush, 
which  grew  solitarily  between,  the  rocks,  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  covered  with  tiny  flowered  tufts. 

"  It  looks  as  if  'twas  in  bloom,"  said  Yann. 

They  drew  near  to  inspect  it.  It  was  in  full 
flower,  indeed.  As  they  could  not  see  very  well 
in  the  twilight,  they  touched  the  tiny  blooms, 
wet  with  mist.  Then  the  first  impression  of 
spring  came  to  them  at  the  same  time  they 
noticed  this  ;  the  days  had  already  lengthened, 
the  air  was  warmer,  and  the  night  more  lumi- 
nous. But  how  forward  this  particular  bush  was ! 
They  could  not  find  another  like  it  anywhere 
around,  not  one !  It  had  blossomed,  you  see, 
expressly  for  them,  for  the  celebration  of  their 
loving  plight. 

"  Oh  !  let  us  gather  some  more,"  said  Yann. 

Groping  in  the  dark,  he  cut  a  nosegay  with 
the  stout  sailor's  knife  that  he  always  wore  in  his 
belt,  and  paring  off  all  the  thorns,  he  placed  it 
in  Gaud's  bosom. 

2IO 


Flower  of  the  Thorn 

"  You  look  like  a  bride  now,"  said  he,  step- 
ping back  to  judge  of  the  effect,  notwithstand- 
ing the  deepening  dusk. 

At  their  feet  the  calm  sea  rose  and  fell  over 
the  shingle  with  an  intermittent  swash,  regular 
as  the  breathing  of  a  sleeper  ;  for  it  seemed  in- 
different or  ever  favourable  to  the  love-making 
going  on  hard  by. 

In  expectation  of  these  evenings  the  days 
appeared  long  to  them,  and  when  they  bade 
each  other  good-bye  at  ten  o'clock,  they  felt  a 
kind  of  discouragement,  because  it  was  all  so 
soon  over. 

They  had  to  hurry  with  the  official  docu- 
ments for  fear  of  not  being  ready  in  time,  and  of 
letting  their  happiness  slip  by  until  the  autumn, 
or  even  uncertainty. 

Their  evening  courtship  in  that  mournful 
spot,  lulled  by  the  continual  even  wash  of  the 
sea,  with  that  feverish  impression  of  the  flight  of 
time,  was  almost  gloomy  and  ominous.  They 
were  like  no  lovers ;  more  serious  and  restless 
were  they  in  their  love  than  the  common  run. 

Yet  Yann  never  told  her  what  mysterious 
thing  had  kept  him  away  from  her  for  these  two 
lonely  years ;  and  after  he  returned  home  of  a 
night,  Gaud  grew  uneasy  as  before,  although  hs 

211 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

loved  her  perfectly — this  she  knew.  It  is  true 
that  he  had  loved  her  all  along,  but  not  as  now  ; 
love  grew  stronger  in  his  heart  and  mind,  like  a 
tide  rising  and  overbrimming.  He  never  had 
known  this  kind  of  love  before. 

Sometimes  on  their  stone  seat  he  lay  down, 
resting  his  head  in  Gaud*s  lap  like  a  caressing 
child,  till,  suddenly  remembering  propriety,  he 
would  draw  himself  up  erect.  He  would  have 
liked  to  lie  on  the  very  ground  at  her  feet, 
and  remain  there  with  his  brow  pressed  to  the 
hem  of  her  garments.  Excepting  the  brotherly 
kiss  he  gave  her  when  he  came  and  went,  he  did 
not  dare  to  embrace  her.  He  adored  that  in- 
visible spirit  in  her,  which  appeared  in  the  very 
sound  of  her  pure,  tranquil  voice,  the  expression 
of  her  smile,  and  in  her  clear  eye. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  COST  OF  OBSTINACY 

One  rainy  evening  they  were  sitting  side  by 
ade  near  the  hearth,  and  Granny  Moan  was 
asleep  opposite  them.  The  fire  flames,  dancing 
over  the  branches  on  the  hearth^  projected  their 
magnified  shadows  on  the  beams  overhead 

212 


The  Cost  of  Obstinacy 

They  spoke  to  one  another  in  that  low  voice 
of  all  lovers.  But  upon  this  particular  evening 
their  conversation  was  now  and  again  broken  by 
long  troubled  silence.  He,  in  particular,  said 
very  little  and  lowered  his  head  with  a  faint 
smile,  avoiding  Gaud's  inquiring  eyes.  For  she 
had  been  pressing  him  with  questions  all  the 
evening  concerning  that  mystery  that  he  posi- 
tively would  not  divulge ;  and  this  time  he  felt 
himself  cornered.  She  was  too  quick  for  him, 
and  had  fully  made  up  her  mind  to  learn ;  no 
possible  shifts  could  get  him  out  of  telling  her 
now. 

"  Was  it  any  bad  tales  told  about  me  ? "  she 
asked. 

He  tried  to  answer  "  yes,"  and  faltered : 
**Oh!  there  was  always  plenty  of  rubbish  bab- 
bled in  Paimpol  and  Ploubazlanec." 

She  asked  what,  but  he  could   not   answer 

her ;    so  then  she  thought   of  something  else. 

"  Was  it  about  my  style  of  dress,  Yann  ?  " 

I      Yes,  of  course,  that  had  had  something  to  do 

with  it ;  at  one  time  she  had  dressed  too  grandly 

to  be  the  wife  of   a   simple  fisherman.      But 

he  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  that  was 

not  all. 

"  Was  it  because  at  that  time  wc  passed  for 
213 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

very  rich  people,  and  you  were  afraid  of  being 
refused  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  that"  He  said  this  with  such 
simple  confidence  that  Gaud  was  amused. 

Then  fell  another  silence,  during  which  the 
moaning  of  the  sea-winds  was  heard  outside. 
Looking  attentively  at  him,  a  fresh  idea  struck 
her,  and  her  expression  changed. 

"  If  not  anything  of  that  sort,  Yann,  what 
was  it  ?  "  demanded  she,  suddenly,  looking  at  him 
fair  in  the  eyes,  with  the  irresistible  questioning 
look  of  one  who  guesses  the  truth,  and  could  dis- 
pense with  confirmation. 

He  turned  aside,  laughing  outright. 

So  at  last  she  had,  indeed,  guessed  aright ;  he 
never  could  give  her  a  real  reason,  because  there 
was  none  to  give.  He  had  simply  "  played  the 
mule "  (as  Sylvestre  had  said  long  ago).  But 
everybody  had  teased  him  so  much  about  that 
Gaud,  his  parents,  Sylvestre,  his  Iceland  mates, 
and  even  Gaud  herself.  Hence  he  had  stubbornly 
said  **  no,"  but  knew  well  enough  in  the  bottom 
of  his  heart  that  when  nobody  thought  any  more 
about  the  hollow  mystery  it  would  become  "yes." 

So  it  was  on  account  of  Yann*s  childishness 
that  Gaud  had  been  languishing,  forsaken  for 
two  long  years,  and  had  longed  to  die. 

214 


The  Cost  of  Obstinacy 

At  first  Yann  laughed,  but  now  he  looked  at 
Gaud  with  kind  eyes,  questioning  deeply.  Would 
she  forgive  him  ?  He  felt  such  remorse  for  hav- 
ing made  her  suffer.     Would  she  forgive  him  ? 

"  It's  my  temper  that  does  it,  Gaud,"  said  he. 
**  At  home  with  my  folk,  it's  the  same  thing. 
Sometimes,  when  I'm  stubborn,  I  remain  a  whole 
week  angered  against  them,  without  speaking  to 
anybody.  Yet  you  know  how  I  love  them,  and 
I  always  end  by  doing  what  they  wish,  like  a 
boy.  If  you  think  that  I  was  happy  to  live 
unmarried,  you're  mistaken.  No,  it  couldn't 
have  lasted  anyway.  Gaud,  you  may  be  sure." 

Of  course,  she  forgave  him.  As  she  felt  the 
soft  tears  fall,  she  knew  they  were  the  outflow 
of  her  last  pangs  vanishing  before  Yann's  con- 
fession. Besides,  the  present  never  would  have 
been  so  happy  without  all  her  suffering;  that 
being  over,  she  was  almost  pleased  at  having 
gone  through  that  time  of  trial. 

Everything  was  finally  cleared  up  between 
them,  in  a  very  unexpected  though  complete 
manner ;  there  remained  no  clouds  between  their 
souls.  He  drew  her  towards  him,  and  they  re- 
mained some  time  with  their  cheeks  pressed 
close,  requiring  no  further  explanations.  So 
chaste  was  their  embrace,  that  the  old  grandam 

VOL.  20  215  Romances  11 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

suddenly  awaking,  they  remained  before  her  as 
they  were  without  any  confusion  or  embarrass- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    BRIDAL 

It  was  six  days  before  the  sailing  for  Iceland. 
Their  wedding  procession  was  returning  from 
Ploubazlanec  Church,  driven  before  a  furious 
wind,  under  a  sombre,  rain-laden  sky. 

They  looked  very  handsome,  nevertheless,  as 
they  walked  along  as  in  a  dream,  arm-in-arm,  like 
king  and  queen  leading  a  long  cortege.  Calm, 
reserved,  and  grave,  they  seemed  to  see  nothing 
about  them ;  as  if  they  were  above  ordinary  life 
and  everybody  else.  The  very  wind  seemed  to 
respect  them,  while  behind  them  their  **  train " 
was  a  jolly  medley  of  laughing  couples,  tum- 
bled and  buffeted  by  the  angry  western  gale. 

Many  people  were  present,  overflowing  with 

young  life ;  others  turning  gray,  but  these  still 

smiled  as  they  thought  of  their  wedding-day  and 

younger  years.     Granny  Yvonne  was  there  and 

following,  too,  panting  a  little,  but  something 

like  happy,  hanging  on  the  arm  of  an  old  uncle 

of  Yann's,  who  was  paying  her  old-fashioned 

216 


The  Bridal 

compliments.  She  wore  a  grand  new  cap,  bought 
for  the  occasion,  and  her  tiny  shawl,  which  had 
been  dyed  a  third  time,  and  black,  because  of 
Sylvestre. 

The  wind  worried  everybody ;  dresses  and 
skirts,  bonnets  and  coiffes,  were  similarly  tossed 
about  mercilessly. 

At  the  church  door,  the  newly  married  couple, 
pursuant  to  custom,  had  bought  two  nosegays  of 
artificial  flowers,  to  complete  their  bridal  attire, 
Yann  had  fastened  his  on  anyhow  upon  his  broad 
chest,  but  he  was  of  those  men  whom  anything 
becomes.  As  for  Gaud,  there  was  still  something 
of  the  lady  about  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
placed  the  rude  flowers  in  her  bodice,  as  of  old 
very  close  fitting  to  her  unrivalled  form. 

The  violin  player,  who  led  the  whole  band, 

bewildered  by  the  wind,  played  at  random ;  his 

tunes  were  heard  by  fits  and  starts  betwixt  the 

noisy  gusts,  and  rose  as  shrill  as  the  screaming  of 

a  sea-gull.     All  Ploubazlanec  had  turned  out  to 

look  at  them.     This  marriage  seemed  to  excite 

people's  sympathy,  and   many  had  come  from 

far  around ;  at  each  turn  of  the  road  there  were 

groups  stationed  to  see  them  pass.     Nearly  all 

Yann*s  mates,  the  Icelanders  of  Paimpol,  were 

there.     They  cheered  the  bride  and  bridegroom 

217 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

as  they  passed ;  Gaud  returned  their  greeting,  bow- 
ing slightly  like  a  town  lady,  with  serious  grace ; 
and  all  along  the  way  she  was  greatly  admired. 

The  darkest  and  most  secluded  hamlets 
around,  even  those  in  the  woods,  had  been 
emptied  of  all  their  beggars,  cripples,  wastrels, 
poor,  and  idiots  on  crutches ;  these  wretches 
scattered  along  the  road,  with  accordions  and 
hurdy-gurdies ;  they  held  out  their  hands  and 
hats  to  receive  the  alms  that  Yann  threw  to 
them  with  his  own  noble  look  and  Gaud  with 
her  beautiful  queenly  smile.  Some  of  these  poor 
waifs  were  very  old  and  wore  gray  locks  on  heads 
that  had  never  held  much ;  crouching  in  the  hol- 
lows of  the  roadside,  they  were  of ,  the  same 
colour  as  the  earth  from  which  they  seemed  to 
have  sprung,  but  so  unformed  as  soon  to  be 
returned  without  ever  having  had  any  human 
thoughts.  Their  wandering  glances  were  as  in- 
decipherable as  the  mystery  of  their  abortive  and 
useless  existences.  Without  comprehending,  they 
looked  at  the  merrymakers'  line  pass  by.  It 
went  on  beyond  Pors-Even  and  the  Gaoses* 
home.  They  meant  to  follow  the  ancient  bridal 
tradition  of  Ploubazlanec  and  go  to  the  chapel  of 
La  Trinity,  which  is  situated  at  the  very  end  of 

the  Breton  country. 

218 


The  Bridal 

At  the  foot  of  the  outermost  cliff,  it  rests  on 
a  threshold  of  low-lying  rocks  close  to  the  water, 
and  seems  almost  to  belong  to  the  sea  already. 
A  narrow  goat's  path  leads  down  to  it  through 
masses  of  granite. 

The  wedding  party  spread  over  the  incline  of 
the  forsaken  cape  head  ;  and  among  the  rocks 
and  stones,  happy  words  were  lost  in  the  roar  of 
the  wind  and  the  surf. 

It  was  useless  to  try  and  reach  the  chapel ;  in 
this  boisterous  weather  the  path  was  not  safe,  the 
sea  came  too  close  with  its  high  rollers.  Its 
white-crested  spouts  sprang  up  in  the  air,  so  as 
to  break  over  everything  in  a  ceaseless  shower. 

Yann,  who  had  advanced  the  farthest  with 
Gaud  on  his  arm,  was  the  first  to  retreat  before 
the  spray.  Behind,  his  wedding  party  had  re- 
mained strewn  about  the  rocks,  in  a  semicircle ; 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  come  to  present  his  wife 
to  the  sea,  which  received  her  with  scowling,  ill- 
boding  aspect. 

Turning  round,  he  caught  sight  of  the  vio- 
linist perched  on  a  gray  rock,  trying  vainly  to 
play  his  dance  tunes  between  gusts  of  wind. 

"  Put  up  your  music,  my  lad,"  said  Yann ; 
"  old  Neptune  is  playing  us  a  livelier  tune  than 
yours." 

219 


Yann*s  First  Wedding 

A  heavily  beating  shower,  which  had  threat- 
ened since  morning,  began  to  fall.  There  was  a 
mad  rush  then,  accompanied  by  outcries  and 
laughter,  to  climb  up  the  bluff  and  take  refuge 
at  the  Gaoses*. 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE   DISCORDANT   NOTE 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  given  at  Yann's 
parents',  because  Gaud's  home  was  so  poor.  It 
took  place  upstairs  in  the  great  new  room.  Five- 
and-twenty  guests  sat  down  round  the  newly  mar- 
ried pair — sisters  and  brothers,  cousin  Gaos  the 
pilot,  Guermeur,  Keraez,  Yvon  Duff,  all  of  the 
old  Marie's  crew,  who  were  now  the  Liopoldine's  \ 
four  very  pretty  bridesmaids,  with  their  hair-plaits 
wound  round  their  ears,  like  the  empresses'  in  an- 
cient Byzantium,  and  their  modern  white  caps, 
shaped  like  sea-shells  ;  and  four  best  men,  all 
broad-shouldered  Icelanders,  with  large  proud 
eyes. 

Downstairs,  of  course,  there  was  eating  and 
cooking  going  on  ;  the  whole  train  of  the  wed- 
ding procession  had  gathered  there  in  disorder  ; 
and  the  extra  servants,  hired  from  Paimpol,  well- 
nigh  lost  their  senses  before  the  mighty  lumbcr- 

220 


The  Discordant  Note 

ing  up  of  the  capacious  hearth  with  pots  and 
pans. 

Yann's  parents  would  have  wished  a  richer 
wife  for  their  son,  naturally,  but  Gaud  was  known 
now  as  a  good,  courageous  girl ;  and  then,  in 
spite  of  her  lost  fortune,  she  was  the  greatest 
beauty  in  the  country,  and  it  flattered  them  to 
see  the  couple  so  well  matched. 

The  old  father  was  inclined  to  be  merry  after 
the  soup,  and  spoke  of  the  bringing  up  of  his 
fourteen  little  Gaoses  ;  but  they  were  all  doing 
well,  thanks  to  the  ten  thousand  francs  that  had 
made  them  well  off. 

Neighbour  Guermeur  related  the  tricks  he 
played  in  the  navy,  yarns  about  China,  the  West 
Indies,  and  Brazil,  making  the  young  ones  who 
would  be  off  some  day,  open  their  eyes  in  won- 
derment. 

"  There  is  a  cry  against  the  sea-service,"  said 
the  old  sailor,  laughing,  "  but  a  man  can  have 
fine  fun  in  it." 

The  weather  did  not  clear  up ;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  wind  and  rain  raged  through  the 
gloomy  night ;  and  in  spite  of  the  care  taken, 
some  of  the  guests  were  fidgety  about  their 
smacks  anchored  in  the  harbour,  and  spoke  of 
getting  up  to  go  and  see  if  all  was  right.     But 

221 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

here  a  more  jovial  sound  than  ever  was  heard 
from  downstairs,  where  the  younger  members  of 
the  party  were  supping  together ;  cheers  of  joy 
and  peals  of  laughter  ascended.  The  little  cous- 
ins were  beginning  to  feel  exhilarated  by  the 
cider. 

Boiled  and  roasted  meats  had  been  served  up 
with  poultry,  different  kinds  of  fish,  omelets  and 
pancakes. 

The  debate  had  turned  upon  fishery  and 
smuggling,  and  the  best  means  of  fooling  the 
coast-guardsmen,  who,  as  we  all  know,  are  the 
sworn  enemies  of  honest  seafarers. 

Upstairs,  at  the  grand  table,  old  circumnavi- 
gators went  so  far  as  to  relate  droll  stories,  in  the 
vernacular. 

But  the  wind  was  raging  altogether  too 
Strong;  for  the  windows  shook  with  a  terrible 
clatter,  and  the  man  telling  the  tale  had  hur- 
riedly ended  to  go  and  see  to  his  smack. 

Then  another  went  on  :  "  When  I  was  boVn's 
mate  aboard  of  the  ZSnobie,  a-lying  at  Aden, 
and  a-doing  the  duty  of  a  corporal  of  marines,  by 
the  same  token,  you  ought  to  ha'  seen  the  os- 
tridge  feather  traders  a-trying  to  scramble  up  over 
the  side.  \Imitating  the  broken  talk"]  *  Bon-joo, 
cap'n  !  we're  not  thief s — we're  honest  merchants' 

222 


The  Discordant  Note 

— Honest,  my  eye  !  with  a  sweep  of  the  bucket, 
a  purtending  to  draw  some  water  up,  I  sent  'em 
all  flying  back  an  oar's  length.  *  Honest  mer- 
chants, are  ye,'  says  I,  *  then  send  us  up  a  bunch  of 
honest  feathers  first — with  a  hard  dollar  or  two 
in  the  core  of  it,  d'ye  see,  and  then  I'll  believe  in 
your  honesty  !  *  Why,  I  could  ha*  made  my  for- 
tun'  out  of  them  beggars,  if  I  hadn't  been  born 
and  brought  up  honest  myself,  and  but  a  suck- 
ing-dove in  wisdom,  saying  nothing  of  my  having 
a  sweetheart  at  Toulon  in  the  millinery  line,  who 
could  have  used  any  quantity  of  feathers " 

Ha !  here's  one  of  Yann's  little  brothers,  a 
future  Iceland  fisherman,  with  a  fresh  pink  face 
and  bright  eyes,  who  is  suddenly  taken  ill  from 
having  drunk  too  much  cider.  So  little  Laumec 
has  to  be  carried  off,  which  cuts  short  the  story 
of  the  milliner  and  the  feathers. 

The  wind  wailed  in  the  chimney  like  an  evil 
spirit  in  torment ;  with  fearful  strength,  it  shook 
the  whole  house  on  its  stone  foundation. 

"  It  strikes  me  the  wind  is  stirred  up,  acos 
we're  enjoying  of  ourselves,"  said  the  pilot 
cousin. 

"No,  it's  the  sea  that's  wrathy,"    corrected 

Yann,  smiling  at  Gaud,  "because  I'd  promised 

I'd  be  wedded  to  herT 

223 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

A  strange  languor  seemed  to  envelop  them 
both  ;  they  spoke  to  one  another  in  a  low  voice, 
apart,  in  the  midst  of  the  general  gaiety.  Yann, 
knowing  thoroughly  the  effect  of  wine,  did  not 
drink  at  all.  Now  and  then  he  turned  dull  too, 
thinking  of  Sylvestre.  It  was  an  understood 
thing  that  there  was  to  be  no  dancing,  on  account 
of  him  and  of  Gaud's  dead  father. 

It  was  the  dessert  now ;  the  singing  would 
soon  begin.  But  first  there  were  the  prayers  to 
say,  for  the  dead  of  the  family ;  this  form  is 
never  omitted,  at  all  wedding-feasts,  and  is  a 
solemn  duty.  So  when  old  Gaos  rose  and  un- 
covered his  white  head,  there  was  a  dead  silence 
around. 

*'  This,"  said  he,  "  is  for  Guillaume  Gaos,  my 
father."  Making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he  began 
the  Lord's  prayer  in  Latin  :  **  Pater  noster,  qui  es 
in  ccelis^  sandificetur  nomen  tuum " 

The  silence  included  all,  even  to  the  joyful 
little  ones  downstairs,  and  every  voice  was  re- 
peating in  an  undertone  the  same  eternal  words. 

"This  is  for  Yves  and  Jean  Gaos,  my  two 

brothers,  who  were  lost  in  the  Sea  of  Iceland. 

This    for    Pierre    Gaos,    my    son,   shipwrecked 

aboard  the  Zilie:'     When  all  the  dead  Gaoses 

had  had  their  prayers,  he  turned  towards  grand- 

224 


The  Discordant  Note 

mother  Moan,  saying,  **  This  one  is  for  Sylvestre 
Moan." 

Yann  wept  as  he  recited  another  prayer. 

**  Sed  libera  nos  a  malo.     Amen  !  " 

Then  the  songs  began ;  sea-songs  learned  in 
the  navy,  on  the  forecastle,  where  we  all  know 
there  are  rare  good  vocalists. 

"  Un  noble  corps,  pas  moins  que  celui  des  Zou- 
aves^' etc. 

A  noble  and  a  gallant  lad 

The  Zouave  is,  we  know. 
But,  capping  him  for  bravery. 

The  sailor  stands,  I  trow. 
Hurrah,  hurrah  !  long  life  to  him. 
Whose  glory  never  can  grow  dim ! 

This  was  sung  by  one  of  the  bride's  sup- 
porters, in  a  feeling  tone  that  went  to  the  soul ; 
and  the  chorus  was  taken  up  by  other  fine,  manly 
voices. 

But  the  newly  wedded  pair  seemed  to  listen 
as  from  a  distance.  When  they  looked  at  one 
another,  their  eyes  shone  with  dulled  brilliance, 
like  that  of  transparently  shaded  lamps.  They 
spoke  in  even  a  lower  voice,  and  still  held  each 
other's  hands.  Gaud  bent  her  head,  too,  gradu- 
ally overcome  by  a  vast,  delightful  terror,  before 
her  master. 

The  ,Dilot  cousin  went  around  the  table,  serv- 
225 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

ing  out  a  wine  of  his  own ;  he  had  brought  it 
with  much  care,  hugging  and  patting  the  bottle, 
which  ought  not  to  be  shaken,  he  said.  He  told 
the  story  of  it.  One  day  out  fishing  they  saw  a 
cask  a-floating ;  it  was  too  big  to  haul  on  board, 
so  they  had  stove  in  the  head  and  filled  all  the 
pots  and  cans  they  had,  with  most  of  its  con- 
tents. It  was  impossible  to  take  all,  so  they  had 
signalled  to  other  pilots  and  fishers,  and  all  the 
sails  in  sight  had  flocked  round  the  flotsam. 

"  And  I  know  more  than  one  old  sobersides 
who  was  gloriously  topheavy  when  we  got  back 
to  Pors-Even  at  night ! "  he  chuckled  liquorishly. 

The  wind  still  went  on  with  its  fearful  din. 

Downstairs  the  children  were  dancing  in 
rings;  except  some  of  the  youngest,  sent  to 
bed ;  but  the  others,  who  were  romping  about, 
led  by  little  Fantec  (Francis)  and  Laumec  (Guil- 
laume),  wanted  to  go  and  play  outside.  Every 
minute  they  were  opening  the  door  and  letting 
in  furious  gusts,  which  blew  out  the  candles. 

The   pilot  cousin   went  on   with   his  story. 

Forty  bottles  had  fallen  to  his  lot,  he  said.     He 

begged  them  all  to  say  nothing  about  it,  because 

of    "'Monsieur  le    Commissaire  de  rinscription 

Maritime^'  who  would  surely  make  a  fuss  over 

the  undeclared  find. 

226 


The  Discordant  Note 

"  But,  d'ye  see,"  he  went  on,  "  it  sarved  the 
lubbers  right  to  heave  over  such  a  vallyble  cask 
or  let  it  'scape  the  lashings,  for  it's  a  superior 
quality,  with  sartinly  more  jinywine  grape-juice 
in  it  than  in  all  the  wine-merchants'  cellars  of 
Paimpol.  Goodness  knows  whence  it  came — 
this  here  castaway  liquor." 

It  was  very  strong  and  rich  in  colour,  dashed 
with  sea-water,  and  had  the  flavour  of  cod-pickle, 
but  in  spite  of  that,  relishable ;  and  several  bot- 
tles were  emptied. 

Some  heads  began  to  spin ;  the  Babel  of 
voices  became  more  confused,  and  the  lads  kissed 
the  lasses  less  surreptitiously. 

The  songs  joyously  continued ;  but  the  winds 
would  not  moderate,  and  the  seamen  exchanged 
tokens  of  apprehension  about  the  bad  weather 
increasing. 

The  sinister  clamour  without  was  indeed 
worse  than  ever.  It  had  become  one  continuous 
howl,  deep  and  threatening,  as  if  a  thousand  mad 
creatures  were  yelling  with  full  throats  and  out- 
stretched necks. 

One  might  imagine  heavy  sea-guns  shooting 

out  their  deafening  boom  in  the  distance,  but 

that  was  only  the  sea  hammering  the  coast  of 

Ploubazlanec  on  all  points ;  undoubtedly  it  did 

227 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

not  appear  contented,  and  Gaud  felt  her  heart 
shrink  at  this  dismal  music,  which  no  one  had 
ordered  for  their  wedding-feast. 

Towards  midnight,  during  a  calm,  Yann,  who 
had  risen  softly,  beckoned  his  wife  to  come  to 
speak  to  him. 

It  was  to  go  home.  She  blushed,  filled  with 
shame,  and  confused  at  having  left  her  seat  so 
promptly.  She  said  it  would  be  impolite  to  go 
away  directly  and  leave  the  others. 

**  Not  a  bit  on  it,"  replied  Yann,  "  my  father 
allows  it ;  we  may  go,"  and  away  he  carried  her. 

They  hurried  away  stealthily.  Outside  they 
found  themselves  in  the  cold,  the  bitter  wind, 
and  the  miserable,  agitated  night.  They  began 
to  run  hand-in-hand. 

From  the  height  of  the  cliff-path,  one  could 
imagine,  without  seeing  it,  the  furious  open  sea, 
whence  arose  all  this  hubbub.  They  ran  along, 
the  wind  cutting  their  faces,  both  bowed  before 
the  angry  gusts,  and  obliged  to  put  their  hands 
over  their  mouths  to  cover  their  breathing,  which 
the  wind  had  completely  taken  away  at  first. 

He  held  her  up  by  the  waist  at  the  outset,  to 
keep  her  dress  from  trailing  on  the  ground,  and 
her  fine  new  shoes  from  being  spoiled  in  the 
water,  which  streamed  about  their  feet,  and  next 

228 


The  Discordant  Note 

he  held  her  round  the  neck,  too,  and  continued 
to  run  on  still  faster.  He  could  hardly  realize 
that  he  loved  her  so  much  !  To  think  that 
she  was  now  twenty-three  and  he  nearly  twenty- 
eight  ;  that  they  might  have  been  married  two 
years  ago,,  and  as  happy  then  as  to-night ! 

At  last  they  arrived  at  home,  that  poor  lodg- 
ing, with  its  damp  flooring  and  moss-grown  roof. 
They  lit  the  candle,  which  the  wind  blew  out 
twice. 

Old  grandam  Moan,  who  had  been  taken 
home  before  the  singing  began,  was  there.  She 
had  been  sleeping  for  the  last  two  hours  in  her 
bunk,  the  flaps  of  which  were  shut.  They  drew 
near  with  respect  and  peeped  through  the  fret- 
work of  her  press,  to  bid  her  good-night,  if  by 
chance  she  were  not  asleep.  But  they  only  per- 
ceived her  still  venerable  face  and  closed  eyes ; 
she  slept,  or  she  feigned  to  do  so,  not  to  disturb 
them. 

They  felt  they  were  alone  then.  Both  trem- 
bled as  they  clasped  hands.  He  bent  forward 
to  kiss  her  lips;  but  Gaud  turned  them  aside, 
through  ignorance  of  that  kind  of  kiss ;  and  as 
chastely  as  on  the  evening  of  their  betrothal,  she 
pressed  hers  to  Yann's  cheek,  which  w^s  chilled, 
almost  frozen,  by  the  wind. 

22Q 


Yann*s  First  Wedding 

It  was  so  bitterly  cold  in  their  poor,  lovf- 
roofed  cottage.  If  Gaud  had  only  remained 
rich,  what  happiness  she  would  have  felt  in  ar- 
ranging a  pretty  room,  not  like  this  one  on  the 
bare  ground!  She  was  scarcely  yet  used  to  these 
rugged  granite  walls,  and  the  rough  look  of  all 
things  around ;  but  her  Yann  was  there  now, 
and  by  his  presence  everything  was  changed  and 
transfigured.  She  saw  only  her  husband.  Their 
lips  met  now  ;  no  turning  aside.  Still  standing 
with  their  arms  intertwined  tightly  to  draw  them- 
selves together,  they  remained  dumb,  in  the  per- 
fect ecstasy  of  a  never-ending  kiss.  Their  flut- 
tering breath  commingled,  and  both  quivered  as 
if  in  a  burning  fever.  They  seemed  without 
power  to  tear  themselves  apart,  and  knew  noth- 
ing and  desired  nothing  beyond  that  long  kiss  of 
consecrated  love. 

She  drew  herself  away,  suddenly  agitated. 
"  Nay,  Yann  !  Granny  Yvonne  might  see  us," 
she  faltered. 

But  he,  with  a  smile,  sought  his  wife's  lips 
again  and  fastened  his  own  upon  them,  like  a 
thirsty  man  whose  cup  of  fresh  water  had  been 
taken  from  him. 

The   movement   they  had   made   broke   the 

charm  of  delightful  hesitation.     Yann,  who,  at 

230 


The  Discordant  Note 

the  first,  was  going  to  kneel  to  her  as  before  a 
saint,  felt  himself  fired  again.  He  glanced  stealth- 
ily towards  the  old  oaken  bunks,  irritated  at  being 
so  close  to  the  old  woman,  and  seeking  some  way 
not  to  be  spied  upon,  but  ever  without  breaking 
away  from  those  exquisite  lips. 

He  stretched  forth  his  arm  behind  him,  and 
with  the  back  of  his  hand  dashed  out  the  light, 
as  if  the  wind  had  done  it.  Then  he  snatched 
her  up  in  his  arms.  Still  holding  her  close,  with 
his  mouth  continually  pressed  to  hers,  he  seemed 
like  a  wild  lion  with  his  teeth  embedded  in  his 
prey.  For  her  part  she  gave  herself  up  entirely, 
to  that  body  and  soul  seizure  that  was  imperious 
and  without  possible  resistance,  even  though  it 
remained  soft  as  a  great  all-comprising  embrace. 

Around  them,  for  their  wedding  hymn,  the 

same  invisible  orchestra,  played  on "  Hoo- 

ooh-hoo ! "  At  times  the  wind  bellowed  out  in 
its  deep  noise,  with  a  tremolo  of  rage  ;  and  again 
repeated  its  threats,  as  if  with  refined  cruelty,  in 
low  sustained  tones,  flute-like  as  the  hoot  of  an 
owl. 

The  broad,  fathomless  grave  of  all  sailors  lay 

nigh  to  them,  restless  and  ravenous,  drumming 

against  the  cliffs  with  its  muffled  boom. 

One  night  or  another  Yann  would  have  to 
231 


Yann's  First   Wedding 

be  caught  in  that  maw,  and  battle  with  it  in  the 
midst  of  the  terror  of  ice  as  well.  Both  knew 
this  plainly. 

But  what  mattered  that  now  to  them  on  land, 
sheltered  from  the  sea's  futile  fury.  In  their  poor 
gloomy  cottage,  over  which  tempest  rushed,  they 
scorned  all  that  was  hostile,  intoxicated  and  de- 
lightfully fortified  against  the  whole  by  the  eter- 
nal magic  of  love. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   BLISSFUL   WEEK 

For  six  days  they  were  husband  and  wife. 
In  this  time  of  leave-taking  the  preparations  for 
the  Iceland  season  occupied  everybody.  The 
women  heaped  up  the  salt  for  the  pickle  in  the 
holds  of  the  vessels ;  the  men  saw  to  the  masts 
and  rigging.  Yann's  mother  and  sisters  worked 
from  morning  till  night  at  the  making  of  the 
sou' westers  and  oilskin  waterproofs. 

The  weather  was  dull,  and  the  sea,  forefeeling 
the  approach  of  the  equinoctial  gales,  was  restless 
and  heaving. 

Gaud  went  through  these  inexorable  prepara- 
tions with  agony  ;  counting  the  fleeting  hours  of 

232 


The  Blissful  Week 

the  day,  and  looking  forward  to  the  night,  when 
work  was  over,  and  she  would  have  her  Yann  to 
herself. 

Would  he  leave  her  every  year  in  this  way  ? 

She  hoped  to  be  able  to  keep  him  back,  but 
she  did  not  dare  to  speak  to  him  about  that  wish 
as  yet.  He  loved  her  passionately,  too  ;  he  never 
had  known  anything  like  this  affection  before ; 
it  was  such  a  fresh,  trusting  tenderness  that  the 
same  caresses  and  fondlings  always  seemed  as  if 
novel  and  unknown  heretofore  ;  and  their  intox- 
ication of  love  continued  to  increase,  and  never 
seemed — never  was  satiated. 

What  charmed  and  surprised  her  in  her  mate 
was  his  tenderness  and  boyishness.  This  the 
Yann  in  love,  whom  she  had  sometimes  seen  at 
Paimpol  most  contemptuous  towards  the  girls. 
On  the  contrary,  to  her  he  always  maintained 
that  kindly  courtesy  that  seemed  natural  to  him, 
and  she  adored  that  beautiful  smile  that  came  to 
him  whenever  their  eyes  met.  Among  these 
simple  folk  there  exists  the  feeling  of  absolute 
respect  for  the  dignity  of  the  wife  ;  there  is  an 
ocean  between  her  and  the  sweetheart.  Gaud 
was  essentially  the  wife.  She  was  sorely  troubled 
in  her  happiness,  however,  for  it  seemed  some- 
thing too  unhoped  for,  as  unstable  as  a  joyful 

233 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

dream.  Besides,  would  this  love  be  lasting  in 
Yann  ?  She  remembered  sometimes  his  former 
flames,  his  fancies  and  different  love  adventures, 
and  then  she  grew  fearful.  Would  he  always 
cherish  that  infinite  tenderness  and  sweet  respect 
for  her  ? 

Six  days  of  a  wedded  life,  for  such  a  love  as 
theirs,  was  nothing;  only  a  fevered  instalment 
taken  from  the  married  life  term,  which  might 
be  so  long  before  them  yet !  They  had  scarcely 
had  leisure  to  be  together  at  all  and  understand 
that  they  really  belonged  to  one  another.  All 
their  plans  of  life  together,  of  peaceful  joy,  and 
settling  down,  was  forcedly  put  off  till  the  fisher- 
man's return. 

No  !  at  any  price  she  would  stop  him  from 
going  to  this  dreadful  Iceland  another  year! 
But  how  should  she  manage  ?  And  what  could 
they  do  for  a  livelihood,  being  both  so  poor  ? 
Then  again  he  so  dearly  loved  the  sea.  But  in 
spite  of  all,  she  would  try  and  keep  him  home 
another  season ;  she  would  use  all  her  power, 
intelligence,  and  heart  to  do  so.  Was  she  to  be 
the  wife  of  an  Icelander,  to  watch  each  spring- 
tide approach  with  sadness,  and  pass  the  whole 
summer  in  painful  anxiety?  no,  now  that  she 
loved    him,   above    everything    that   she    could 

234 


The  Blissful  Week 

imagine,  she  felt  seized  with  an  immense  terror 
at  the  thought  of  years  to  come  thus  robbed 
of  the  better  part. 

They  had  one  spring  day  together — only  one. 
It  was  the  day  before  the  sailing ;  all  the  stores 
had  been  shipped,  and  Yann  remained  the  whole 
day  with  her.  They  strolled  along,  arm-in-arm, 
through  the  lanes,  like  sweethearts  again,  very 
close  to  one  another,  murmuring  a  thousand 
tender  things.  The  good  folk  smiled,  as  they 
saw  them  pass,  saying : 

"  It's  Gaud,  with  long  Yann  from  Pors-Even. 
They  were  married  only  t'other  day  ! " 

This  last  day  was  really  spring.  It  was 
strange  and  wonderful  to  behold  this  universal 
serenity.  Not  a  single  cloud  marred  the  lately 
flecked  sky.  The  wind  did  not  blow  anywhere. 
The  sea  had  become  quite  tranquil,  and  was  of  a 
pale,  even  blue  tint.  The  sun  shone  with  glar- 
ing white  brilliancy,  and  the  rough  Breton  land 
seemed  bathed  in  its  light,  as  in  a  rare,  dehcate 
ether ;  it  seemed  to  brighten  and  revive  even  in 
the  utmost  distance.  The  air  had  a  delicious, 
balmy  scent,  as  of  summer  itself,  and  seemed  as 
if  it  were  always  going  to  remain  so,  and  never 
know  any  more  gloomy,  thunderous  days.     The 

capes  and  bays  over  which  the  changeful  shadows 

235 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

of  the  clouds  no  longer  passed,  were  outlined  in 
strong  steady  lines  in  the  sunlight,  and  appeared 
to  rest  also  in  the  long-during  calm.  All  this 
made  their  loving  festival  sweeter  and  longer 
drawn  out.  The  early  flowers  already  appeared  : 
primroses,  and  frail,  scentless  violets  grew  along 
the  hedgerows. 

When  Gaud  asked  :  *'  How  long  then  are 
you  going  to  love  me,  Yann  ?  " 

He  answered,  surprisedly,  looking  at  her  full 
in  the  face  with  his  frank  eyes :  "  Why,  for  ever, 
Gaud." 

That  word,  spoken  so  simply  by  his  fierce 
lips,  seemed  to  have  its  true  sense  of  eternity. 

She  leaned  on  his  arm.  In  the  enchantment 
of  her  realized  dream,  she  pressed  close  to  him, 
always  anxious,  feeling  that  he  was  as  flighty  as 
a  wild  sea-bird.  To-morrow  he  would  take  his 
soaring  on  the  open  sea.  And  it  was  too  late 
now,  she  could  do  nothing  to  stop  him. 

From  the  cliff -paths  where  they  wandered, 
they  could  see  the  whole  of  this  sea-bound  coun- 
try ;  which  seems  almost  treeless,  strewn  with 
low,  stunted  bush  and  boulders.  Here  and  there 
fishers'  huts  were  scattered  over  the  rocks,  their 
high  battered  thatches  made  green  by  the  crop- 
ping up  of  new  mosses  ;  and  in  the  extreme  dis- 

236 


The  Blissful  Week 

tance,  the  sea,  like  a  boundless  transparency, 
stretched  out  in  a  never-ending  horizon,  which 
seemed  to  encircle  everything. 

She  enjoyed  telling  him  about  all  the  won- 
derful things  she  had  seen  in  Paris,  but  he  was 
very  contemptuous,  and  was  not  interested. 

*'  It's  so  far  in  from  the  coast,"  said  he,  "  and 
there  is  so  much  land  between,  that  it  must  be 
unhealthy.  So  many  houses  and  so  many  peo- 
ple, too,  about !  There  must  be  lots  of  ills  and 
ails  in  those  big  towns  ;  no,  I  shouldn't  like  to 
live  there,  certain  sure  ! " 

She  smiled,  surprised  to  see  this  giant  so  sim- 
ple a  fellow. 

Sometimes  they  came  across  hollows  where 
trees  grew  and  seemed  to  defy  the  winds.  There 
was  no  view  here,  only  dead  leaves  scattered  be- 
neath their  feet  and  chilly  dampness  ;  the  narrow 
way,  bordered  on  both  sides  by  green  reeds, 
seemed  very  dismal  under  the  shadow  of  the 
branches ;  hemmed  in  by  the  walls  of  some  dark, 
lonely  hamlet,  rotting  with  old  age,  and  slumber- 
ing in  this  hollow. 

A  crucifix  arose  inevitably  before  them,  among 
the  dead  branches,  with  its  colossal  image  of  Our 
Saviour  in  weather-worn  wood,  its  features  wrung 
with  His  endless  agony. 

237 


Yann's  First  Wedding 

Then  the  pathway  rose  again,  and  they  found 
themselves  commanding  the  view  of  immense 
horizons — and  breathed  the  bracing  air  of  sea- 
heights  once  more. 

He,  to  match  her,  spoke  of  Iceland,  its 
pale,  nightless  summers  and  sun  that  never  set. 
Gaud  did  not  understand  and  asked  him  to 
explain. 

"The  sun  goes  all  round,"  said  he,  waving 
his  arm  in  the  direction  of  the  distant  circle  of 
the  blue  waters.  *'  It  always  remains  very  low, 
because  it  has  no  strength  to  rise ;  at  midnight, 
it  drags  a  bit  through  the  water,  but  soon  gets 
up  and  begins  its  journey  round  again.  Some- 
times the  moon  appears  too,  at  the  other  side  of 
the  sky  ;  then  they  move  together,  and  you  can't 
very  well  tell  one  from  t'other,  for  they  are  much 
alike  in  that  queer  country." 

To  see  the  sun  at  midnight !  How  very  far 
off  Iceland  must  be  for  such  marvels  to  happen ! 
And  the  fjords  ?  Gaud  had  read  that  word  sev- 
eral times  written  among  the  names  of  the  dead 
in  the  chapel  of  the  shipwrecked,  and  it  seemed 
to  portend  some  grisly  thing. 

"The  fjords,"  said  Yann,  "they  are  only 
broad  bays,  like  Paimpol,  for  instance  ;  only  they 
are  surrounded  by  high  mountains — so  high  that 

238 


The  Blissful  Week 

they  seem  endless,  because  of  the  clouds  upon 
their  tops.  It's  a  sorry  country,  I  can  tell  you, 
darling.  Nothing  but  stones.  The  people  of 
Iceland  know  of  no  such  things  as  trees.  In  the 
middle  of  August,  when  our  fishery  is  over,  it*s 
quite  time  to  return,  for  the  nights  begin  again 
then,  and  they  lengthen  out  very  quickly ;  the  sun 
falls  below  the  earth  without  being  able  to  get 
up,  and  that  night  lasts  all  the  winter  through. 
Talking  of  night,"  he  continued,  "  there's  a  little 
burying-ground  on  the  coast  in  one  of  the  fjords, 
for  Paimpol  men  who  have  died  during  the  sea* 
son  or  went  down  at  sea ;  it's  consecrated  earth, 
just  like  at  Pors-Even,  and  the  dead  have  wooden 
crosses  just  like  ours  here,  with  their  names 
painted  on  them.  The  two  Goazdious  from 
Ploubazlanec  lie  there,  and  Guillaume  Moan, 
Sylvestre's  grandfather." 

She  could  almost  see  the  little  churchyard  at  ^ 
the  foot  of  the  solitary  capes,  under  the  pale  rose- 
coloured  light  of  those  never-ending  days,  and 
she  thought  of  those  distant  dead,  under  the  ice 
and  dark  winding  sheets  of  the  long  night-like 
winters. 

**  Do  you  fish  the  whole  time,"   she  asked, 
"  without  ever  stopping  ?  " 

"The  whole  time,  though  we  somehow  get 

VOL.  20  239  Romances  12 


Yann*s  First  Wedding 

on  with  work  on  deck,  for  the  sea  isn't  always 
fine  out  there.  Well !  of  course  we're  dead  beat 
when  the  night  comes,  but  it  gives  a  man  an 
appetite — bless  you,  dearest,  we  r^ularly  gobble 
down  our  meals." 

"  Do  you  never  feel  sick  of  it  ?" 

•*  Never,"  returned  he,  with  an  air  of  unshaken 
faith  which  pained  her ;  "  on  deck,  on  the  open 
sea,  the  time  never  seems  long  to  a  man — never ! " 

She  hung  her  head,  feeling  sadder  than  ever, 
and  more  and  more  vanquished  by  her  only  ene- 
my, the  sea. 


i\ 


11 


FARTV 


THE  SECOND  WEDDING 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   START 

After  the  spring  day  they  had  enjoyed,  the 
falling  night  brought  back  the  impression  of  win- 
ter, and  they  returned  to  dine  before  their  fire, 
which  was  flamiAg  with  new  branches.  It  was 
their  last  meal  together ;  but  they  had  some  hours 
yet,  and  were  not  saddened. 

After  dinner,  they  recovered  the  sweet  im- 
pression of  spring  again,  out  on  the  Pors-Even 
road  ;  for  the  air  was  calm,  almost  genial,  and  the 
twilight  still  lingered  over  the  land. 

They  went  to  see  the  family — for  Yann  to  bid 
good-bye — and  returned  early,  as  they  wished  to 
rise  with  break  of  day. 

The  next  morning  the  quay  of  Paimpol  was 
crowded  with  people.  The  departures  for  Ice- 
land had  begun  the  day  before,  and  with  each 
tide  there  was  a  fresh  fleet  off.  On  this  particu- 
lar morning,  fifteen  vessels  were  to  start  with  the 
Liopoldine,  and  the  wives  or  mothers  of  the  sail- 
ors were  all  present  at  the  getting  under  sail 

243 


The  Second  Wedding 

Gaud,  who  was  now  the  wife  of  an  Icelander, 
^as  much  surprised  to  find  herself  among  them 
11,  and  brought  thither  for  the  same  fateful  pur- 
ose.  Her  position  seemed  to  have  become  so 
itensified  within  the  last  few  days,  that  she  had 
arely  had  time  to  realize  things  as  they  were ; 
liding  irresistibly  down  an  incline,  she  had  ar- 
ived  at  this  inexorable  conclusion  that  she  must 
ear  up  for  the  present,  and  do  as  the  others  did, 
''ho  were  accustomed  to  it. 

She  never  before  had  been  present  at  these 
irewells ;  hence  all  was  new  to  her.  Among 
[lese  women  was  none  like  her,  and  she  felt  her 
ifference  and  isolation.  Her  past  life,  as  a  lady, 
ras  still  remembered,  and  caused  her  to  be  set 
side  as  one  apart. 

The  weather  had  remained  fine  on  this  part-  $| 

ig-day  ;  but  out  at  sea  a  heavy  swell  came  from 
he  west,  foretelling  wind,  and  the  sea,  lying  in 
^ait  for  these  new  adventurers,  burst  its  crests 
far. 

Around  Gaud  stood  many  good-looking  wives 

Ike  her,  and  touching,  with  their  eyes  big  with 

ears ;  others  were  thoughtless  and  lively ;  these 

lad  no  heart  or  were  not  in  love.     Old  women, 

hreatened  nearly  by  death,  wept  as  they  clung 

o  their   sons ;    sweethearts   kissed   each  other ; 

244 


The  Start 

half-maudlin  sailors  sang  to  cheer  themselves  up, 
while  others  went  on  board  with  gloomy  looks 
as  to  their  execution. 

Many  sad  incidents  could  be  marked ;  there 
were  poor  luckless  fellows  who  had  signed  their 
contracts  unconsciously,  when  in  liquor  in  the 
grog-shop,  and  they  had  to  be  dragged  on  board 
by  force ;  their  own  wives  helping  the  gen- 
darmes. Others,  noted  for  their  great  strength, 
had  been  drugged  in  drink  beforehand,  and  were 
carried  like  corpses  on  stretchers,  and  flung  down 
in  the  forecastles. 

Gaud  was  frightened  by  all  this ;  what  com- 
panions were  these  for  her  Yann  ?  and  what  a 
fearful  thing  was  this  Iceland,  to  inspire  men 
with  such  terror  of  it  ? 

Yet  there  were  sailors  who  smiled,  and  were 
happy ;  who,  doubtless,  like  Yann,  loved  the  un- 
trammelled life  and  hard  fishing  work ;  those 
were  the  sound,  able  seamen,  who  had  fine  noble 
countenances  ;  if  they  were  unmarried  they  went 
off  recklessly,  merely  casting  a  last  look  on  the 
lasses;  and  if  they  were  married,  they  kissed 
their  wives  and  little  ones,  with  fervent  sadness 
and  deep  hopefulness  as  to  returning  home  all 
the  richer. 

Gaud  was  a  little  comforted  when  she  saw 
245 


The  Second  Wedding 

that  all  the  Ldopoldines  were  of  the  latter  class> 
iorming  really  a  picked  crew. 

The  vessels  set  oif  two  by  two,  or  four  by 
four,  drawn  out  by  the  tugs.  As  soon  as  they 
moved  the  sailors  raised  their  caps  and,  full- 
voiced,  struck  up  the  hymn  to  the  Virgin :  "  So* 
lut,  Etoile-de-la-Mer r'  (All  Hail!  Star  of  the 
Sea !),  while  on  the  quay,  the  women  waved 
their  hands  for  a  last  farewell,  and  tears  fell  upon 
the  lace  strings  of  the  caps. 

As  soon  as  the  Liopoldine  started,  Gaud 
quickly  set  off  towards  the  house  of  the  Gaoses, 
After  an  hour  and  a  half's  walk  along  the  coast, 
through  the  familiar  paths  of  Ploubazlanec,  she 
arrived  there,  at  the  very  land's  end,  within  the 
home  of  her  new  family. 

The  Ldopoldine  was  to  cast  anchor  off  Pors- 
Even  before  starting  definitely  in  the  evening, 
so  the  married  pair  had  made  a  last  appointment 
here.  Yann  came  to  land  in  the  yawl,  and 
stayed  another  three  hours  with  her  to  bid  her 
good-bye  on  firm  land.  The  weather  was  still 
beautiful  and  spring-like,  and  the  sky  serene. 

They  walked  out  on  the  high  road  arm-in-arm, 
and  it  reminded  them  of  their  walk  the  day  be- 
fore. They  strolled  on  towards  Paimpol  with- 
out any  apparent  object  in  view,  and  soon  came 

246 


The  Start 

to  their  own  home,  as  if  unconsciously  drawn 
there  ;  they  entered  together  for  the  last  time. 
Grandam  Moan  was  quite  amazed  at  seeing  them 
together  again. 

Yann  left  many  injunctions  with  Gaud  con- 
cerning several  of  his  things  in  their  wardrobe, 
especially  about  his  fine  wedding  clothes ;  she 
was  to  take  them  out  occasionally  and  air  them 
in  the  sun,  and  so  on.  On  board  ship  the  sail- 
ors learn  all  these  household-like  matters ;  but 
Gaud  was  amused  to  hear  it.  Her  husband 
might  have  been  sure,  though,  that  all  his  things 
would  be  kept  and  attended  to,  with  loving  care. 

But  all  these  matters  were  very  secondary  for 
them  ;  they  spoke  of  them  only  to  have  some- 
thing to  talk  about,  and  to  hide  their  real  feel- 
ings. They  went  on  speaking  in  low,  soft  tones, 
as  if  fearing  to  frighten  away  the  moments  that 
remained,  and  so  make  time  flit  by  more  swiftly 
still.  Their  conversation  was  as  a  thing  that  had 
inexorably  to  come  to  an  end  ;  and  the  most  in- 
significant things  that  they  said  seemed,  on  this 
day,  to  become  wondrous,  mysterious,  and  im- 
portant. 

At  the  very  last  minute  Yann  caught  up  his 
wife  in  his  arms,  and  without  saying  a  word,  they 
were  enfolded  in  a  long  and  silent  embrace. 

247 


The  Second  Wedding 

He  embarked ;  the  gray  sails  were  unfurled 
and  spread  out  to  the  light  wind  that  rose  from 
the  west.  He,  whom  she  still  could  distinguish, 
waved  his  cap  in  a  particular  way  agreed  on  be- 
tween them.  And  with  her  figure  outlined 
against  the  sea,  she  gazed  for  a  long,  long  time 
upon  her  departing  love. 

That  tiny,  human-shaped  speck,  appearing 
black  against  the  bluish  gray  of  the  waters,  was 
still  her  husband,  even  though  already  it  became 
vague  and  indefinable,  lost  in  the  distance,  where 
persistent  sight  becomes  baffled,  and  can  see  no 
longer. 

As  the  Uopoldine  faded  out  of  vision,  Gaud, 
as  if  drawn  by  a  magnet,  followed  the  pathway 
all  along  the  cliffs  till  she  had  to  stop,  because 
the  land  came  to  an  end ;  she  sat  down  at  the 
foot  of  a  tall  cross,  which  rises  amidst  the  gorse 
and  stones.  As  it  was  rather  an  elevated  spot, 
the  sea,  as  seen  from  there,  appeared  to  be 
rimmed, 'as  in  a  bowl,  and  the  Liopoldine^  now  a 
mere  point,  appeared  sailing  up  the  incline  of 
that  immense  circle.  The  water  rose  in  great 
slow  undulations,  like  the  upheavals  of  a  sub* 
marine  combat  going  on  somewhere  beyond  the 
horizon  ;  but  over  the  great  space  where  Yano 
still  was,  all  dwelt  calm. 

348 

f 


I 


The  Start 

Gaud  still  gazed  at  the  ship,  trying  to  fix  its 
image  well  in  her  brain,  so  that  she  might  recog- 
nise it  again  from  afar,  when  she  returned  to  the 
same  place  to  watch  for  its  home-coming. 

Great  swells  now  rolled  in  from  the  west»  one 
after  another,  without  cessation,  renewing  their 
useless  efforts,  and  ever  breaking  over  the  same 
rocks,  foaming  over  the  same  places,  to  wash  the 
same  stones.  The  stifled  fury  of  the  sea  ap- 
peared strange,  considering  the  absolute  calmness 
of  the  air  and  sky  ;  it  was  as  if  the  bed  of  the  sea 
were  too  full  and  would  overflow  and  swallow 
up  the  strand. 

The  Liopoldine  had  grown  smaller  and  smaller, 
and  was  lost  in  the  distance.  Doubtless  the  un- 
der-tow  carried  her  along,  for  she  moved  swiftly 
and  yet  the  evening  breezes  were  very  faint. 
Now  she  was  only  a  tiny,  gray  touch,  and  would 
soon  reach  the  extreme  horizon  of  all  visible 
things,  and  enter  those  infinite  regions,  whence 
darkness  was  beginning  to  come. 

Going  on  seven  o'clock,  night  closed,  and  the 
boat  had  disappeared.  Gaud  returned  home, 
feeling  withal  rather  brave,  notwithstanding  the 
tears  that  uncontainably  fell.  What  a  difference 
it  would  have  been,  and  what  still  greater  pain,  if 
he  had  gone  away,  as  in  the  two  preceding  years, 

249 


The  Second  Wedding 

without  even  a  good-bye  !  While  now  every- 
thing  was  softened  and  bettered  between  them. 
He  was  really  her  own  Yann,  and  she  knew  her- 
self to  be  so  truly  loved,  notwithstanding  this 
separation,  that,  as  she  returned  home  alone,  she 
felt  at  least  consoled  by  the  thought  of  the  de- 
lightful waiting  for  that  "  soon  again  ! "  to  be 
realized  to  which  they  had  pledged  themselves  for 
the  autumn. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   FIRST   OF  THE   FLEET 

The  summer  passed  sadly,  being  hot  and 
uneventful.  She  watched  anxiously  for  the 
first  yellowed  leaves,  and  the  first  gathering  of 
the  swallows,  and  blooming  of  the  chrysanthe- 
mums. She  wrote  to  Yann  several  times  by  the 
boats  bound  for  Rykawyk,  and  by  the  govern- 
ment cruisers,  but  one  never  can  be  sure  of  such 
ietters  reaching  their  destination. 

Towards  the  end  of  July,  she  received  a  letter 

from  him,  however.     He  told  her  that  his  health 

was  good,  that  the  fishing  season  promised  to  be 

excellent,  and  that  he  already  had  1500  fish  for 

his  share.    From  beginning  to  end,  it  was  written 

in  the  simple  conventional  way  of  all  these  Ice- 

250 


The  First  of  the  Fleet 

landers'  home  letters.  Men  educated  like  Yann 
completely  ignore  how  to  write  the  thousand 
things  they  think,  feel,  or  fancy.  Being  more 
cultivated  than  he,  Gaud  could  understand  this, 
and  read  between  the  lines  that  deep  affection 
that  was  unexpressed.  Several  times  in  the  four- 
paged  letter,  he  called  her  by  the  title  of  "  wife," 
as  if  happy  in  repeating  the  word.  And  the  ad- 
dress above :  **  A  Madame  Marguerite  Gaos,  mau 
son  Moan,  en  Ploubazlanec '* — she  liked  to  read 
that  over  and  over  again.  She  was  "  Madame 
Marguerite  Gaos"  since  so  short  a  time. 

She  worked  hard  during  these  summer 
months.  The  ladies  of  Paimpol  had,  at  first, 
hardly  believed  in  her  talent  as  an  amateur  dress- 
maker, saying  her  hands  were  too  fine-ladyish; 
but  they  soon  perceived  that  she  excelled  in 
making  dresses  that  were  very  nice-fitting,  so  she 
had  become  almost  a  famous  dressmaker. 

She  spent  all  her  earnings  in  embellishing 
their  home  against  his  return.  The  wardrobe 
and  old-shelved  beds  were  all  done  up  afresh, 
waxed  over,  and  bright  new  fastenings  put  on ; 
she  had  put  a  pane  of  glass  into  their  little  win- 
dow towards  the  sea,  and  hung  up  a  pair  of  cur* 
tains ;  and  she  had  bought  a  new  counterpane 

for  the  winter,  with  new  chairs  and  table. 

251 


The  Second  Wedding 

She  had  kept  the  money  untouched  that  her 
Yann  had  left  her,  carefully  put  by  in  a  small 
Chinese  box,  to  show  him  when  he  returned. 
During  the  summer  evenings,  by  the  fading  light, 
she  sat  out  before  the  cottage  door  with  Granny 
Moan,  whose  head  was  much  better  in  the  warm 
weather,  and  knitted  a  fine  new  blue  wool  jersey 
for  her  Yann ;  round  the  collar  and  cuffs  were 
wonderful  open-work  embroideries.  Granny 
Yvonne  had  been  a  very  clever  knitter  in  her 
day,  and  now  she  taught  all  she  knew  to  Gaud. 
The  work  took  a  great  deal  of  wool ;  for  it  had 
to  be  a  large  jersey  to  fit  Yann. 

But  soon,  especially  in  the  evenings,  the 
shortening  of  the  days  could  be  perceived.  Some 
plants,  which  had  put  forth  all  their  blossoms  in 
July,  began  to  look  yellow  and  dying,  and  the 
violet  scabious  by  the  wayside  bloomed  for  the 
second  time,  smaller  now,  and  longer-stalked ; 
the  last  days  of  August  drew  nigh,  and  the  first 
return-ship  from  Iceland  hove  in  sight  one  even- 
ing at  the  cape  of  Pors-Even.  The  feast  of  the 
returners  began. 

Every  one  pressed  in  a  crowd  on  the  cliff  to 
welcome  it.     Which  one  was  it  ? 

It  was  the  Samuel-Azinide,  always  the  first 
to  return. 

252 


All  but  Two 

"Surely,"  said  Yann's  old  father,  "the  Lio- 
poldine  won't  be  long  now  ;  I  know  how  'tis  out 
yonder :  when  one  of  'em  begins  to  start  home- 
ward, the  others  can't  hang  back  in  any  peace." 


CHAPTER  III 

ALL    BUT   TWO 

The  Icelanders  were  all  returning  now.  Two 
ships  came  in  the  second  day,  four  the  next,  and 
twelve  during  the  following  week.  And,  all 
through  the  country,  joy  returned  with  them, 
and  there  was  happiness  for  the  wives  and  moth- 
ers ;  and  junkets  in  the  taverns  where  the  beau- 
tiful barmaids  of  Paimpol  served  out  drink  to 
the  fishers. 

The  Ldopoldine  was  among  the  belated  ;  there 
were  yet  another  ten  expected.  They  would  not 
be  long  now,  and  allowing  a  week's  delay  so  as 
not  to  be  disappointed.  Gaud  waited  in  happy, 
passionate  joy  for  Yann,  keeping  their  home 
bright  and  tidy  for  his  return.  When  everything 
was  in  good  order  there  was  nothing  left  for  her 
to  do,  and  besides  she  could  think  of  nothing  else 
but  her  husband  in  her  impatience. 

253 


The  Second  Wedding 

Three  more  ships  appeared  ;  then  another  five. 
There  were  only  two  lacking  now. 

**  Come,  come,"  they  said  to  her  cheerily,  **  this 
year  the  L^opoldine  and  the  Marie-Jeanne  will  be 
the  last,  to  pick  up  all  the  brooms  fallen  over- 
board  from  the  other  craft." 

Gaud  laughed  also.  She  was  more  animated 
and  beautiful  than  ever,  in  her  great  joy  of  ex- 
pectancy. 

CHAPTER  IV 

STILL   AT    SEA 

But  the  days  succeeded  one  another  without 
result.  She  still  dressed  herself  every  day,  and 
with  a  joyful  look,  went  down  to  the  harbour  to 
gossip  with  the  other  wives.  She  said  that  this 
delay  was  but  natural ;  was  it  not  the  same  event 
every  year?  These  were  such  safe  boats,  and 
had  such  capital  sailors. 

But  when  at  home  alone,  at  night,  a  nerv^ous, 
anxious  shiver  of  anguish  would  run  through  her 
whole  frame. 

Was  it  right  to  be  frightened  already  ?  Was 
there  even  a  single  reason  to  be  so  ?  But  she 
began  to  tremble  at  the  mere  idea  of  grounds 
for  being  afraid. 

254 


Sharing  the   Dread 
CHAPTER  V 

SHARING  THE  DREAD 

The  tenth  of  September  came.  How  swiftly 
the  days  flew  by  I 

One  morning,  a  true  autumn  morning,  with 
cold  mist  falling  over  the  earth,  in  the  rising  sun, 
she  sate  under  the  porch  of  the  chapel  of  the 
shipwrecked  mariners,  where  the  widows  go  to 
pray ;  with  eyes  fixed  and  glassy,  throbbing  tem- 
ples tightened  as  by  an  iron  band. 

These  sad  morning  mists  had  begun  two  days 
before,  and  on  this  particular  day  Gaud  had 
awakened  with  a  still  more  bitter  uneasiness, 
caused  by  the  forecast  of  advancing  winter.  Why 
did  this  day,  this  hour,  this  very  moment,  seem  to 
her  more  painful  than  the  preceding?  Often 
ships  are  delayed  a  fortnight,  even  a  month,  for 
that  matter. 

But  surely  there  was  something  different  about 
this  particular  morning,  for  she  had  come  to-day 
for  the  first  time  to  sit  in  the  porch  of  this  chapel 
and  read  the  names  of  the  dead  sailors,  perished 
in  their  prime* 

**/n  memory  of 

Gaos,  Yvon, 

Lost  at  sea 

Near  the  Norden-Fjord." 

255 


ri 


The  Second  Wedding 

Like  a  great  shudder,  a  gust  of  wind  rose 
from  the  sea,  and  at  the  same  time  something 
fell  like  rain  upon  the  roof  above.  It  was  only 
the  dead  leaves  though ;  many  were  blown  in  at 
the  porch ;  the  old  wind-tossed  trees  of  the 
graveyard  were  losing  their  foliage  in  this  rising 
gale,  and  winter  was  marching  nearer. 

"  Lost  at  sea, 

Near  the  Norden-Fjord, 

In  the  storm  of  the  4th  and  5th  of  August,  1880." 

She  read  mechanically  under  the  arch  of  the 
doorway ;  her  eyes  sought  to  pierce  the  distance 
over  the  sea.  That  morning  it  was  untraceable 
under  the  gray  mist,  and  a  dragging  drapery  of 
clouds  overhung  the  horizon  like  a  mourning  veil. 

Another  gust  of  wind,  and  other  leaves 
danced  in  in  whirls.  A  stronger  gust  still,  as 
if  the  western  storm  that  had  strewn  those  dead 
over  the  sea,  wished  to  deface  the  very  inscrip- 
tions that  remembered  their  names  to  the  living. 

Gaud  looked  with  involuntary  persistency  at 
an  empty  space  upon  the  wall  that  seemed  to 
yawn  expectant.  By  a  terrible  impression  she 
was  pursued,  the  thought  of  a  fresh  slab  which 
might  soon,  perhaps,  be  placed  there,  with  an- 
other name  which  she  did  not  even  dare  to  think 

of  in  such  a  spot. 

256 

/ 


Sharing  the  Dread 


She  felt  cold,  and  remained  seated  on  the 
granite  bench,  her  head  reclining  against  the 
stone  wall. 


"  near  the  Norden- Fjord, 
In  the  storm  of  the  4th  and  5th  of  August, 
At  the  age  of  23  years. 
Requiescat  in  pace  /  " 


Then  Iceland  loomed  up  before  her,  with  its 
little  cemetery  lighted  up  from  below  the  sea-line 
by  the  midnight  sun.  Suddenly  in  the  same 
empty  space  on  the  wall,  with  horrifying  clear- 
ness she  saw  the  fresh  slab  she  was  thinking  of ; 
a  clear  white  one,  with  a  skull  and  cross-bones, 
and  in  a  flash  of  foresight,  a  name — the  wor- 
shipped name  of  "  Yann  Gaos ! "  Then  she  sud- 
denly and  fearfully  drew  herself  up  straight  and 
stiff,  with  a  hoarse,  wild  cry  in  her  throat  like  a 
mad  creature. 

Outside  the  gray  mist  of  the  dawn  fell  over 
the  land,  and  the  dead  leaves  were  again  blown 
dancingly  into  the  porch. 

Steps  on  the  footpath  ?  Somebody  was 
coming  ?  She  rose  and  quickly  smoothed  down 
her  cap  and  composed  her  face.  Nearer  drew 
the  steps.  She  assumed  the  air  of  one  who 
might  be  there  by  chance ;   for,  above  all,  she 

257 


The  Second  Wedding 

did  not  wish  to  appear  yet,  like  the  widow  of  a 
shipwrecked  mariner. 

It  happened  to  be  Fante  Floury,  the  wife  of 
the  second  mate  of  the  Ldopoldine,  She  under- 
stood immediately  what  Gaud  was  doing  there ; 
it  was  useless  to  dissemble  with  her.  At  first 
each  woman  stood  speechless  before  the  other. 
They  were  angry  and  almost  hated  each  other  for 
having  met  with  a  like  sentiment  of  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  All  the  men  of  Tr^guier  and  Saint  Brieuc 
have  been  back  this  week,"  said  Fante  at  last,  in 
a  pitiless,  muffled,  half-irritated  voice. 

She  carried  a  blessed  taper  in  her  hand,  to 
offer  up  a  prayer.  Gaud  did  not  wish  yet  to 
resort  to  that  extreme  resource  of  despairing 
wives.  Yet  silently  she  entered  the  chapel  be- 
hind Fante,  and  they  knelt  down  together  side 
by  side,  like  two  sisters. 

To  the  "  Star  of  the  Sea  "  they  offered  ardent 

imploring  prayers,  with  their  whole  soul  in  them. 

A  sound  of  sobbing  was  alone  heard,  as  their 

rapid  tears  swiftly  fell  upon  the  floor.    They  rose 

together,  more  confident  and  softened.     Fante 

held  up  Gaud,  who  staggered,  and  taking  her  in 

her  arms,  kissed  her. 

Wiping  their  eyes,  and  smoothing  their  di- 
258 


All  but  One 

shevelled  hair,  they  brushed  off  the  salt  dust 
from  the  flagstones,  soiling  their  gowns,  and 
they  went  away  in  opposite  directions,  without 
another  word. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ALL    BUT    ONE 

This  end  of  September  was  like  another 
summer,  only  a  little  less  lively.  The  weather 
was  so  beautiful,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the 
dead  leaves  that  fell  upon  the  roads,  one  might 
have  thought  that  June  had  come  back  again. 
Husbands  and  sweethearts  had  all  returned,  and 
eveiywhere  was  the  joy  of  a  second  spring-time 
of  love. 

At  last,  one  day,  one  of  the  missing  ships 
was  signalled.     Which  one  was  it  ? 

The  groups  of  speechless  and  anxious  women 
had  rapidly  formed  on  the  cliff.  Gaud,  pale  and 
trembling,  was  there,  by  the  side  of  her  Yann's 
father. 

"  I'm  almost  sure,"  said  the  old  fisher,  "  Fm 

almost  sure  it's  them  !     A  red  rail  and  a  topsail 

that  clews  up — it's  very  like  them  anyhow.    What 

do  you  make  it,  Gaud  ? 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  went  on,  with  sudden  dis- 
259 


The  Second  Wedding 

couragement ;  "  we've  made  a  mistake  again,  the 
boom  isn't  ^the  same,  and  ours  has  a  jigger  sail. 
Well,  well,  it  isn't  our  boat  this  time,  it's  only 
the  Marie-Jeanne,  Never  mind,  my  lass,  surely 
they'll  not  be  long  now." 

But  day  followed  day,  and  night  succeeded 
nigiit,  with  uninterrupted  serenity. 

Gaud  continued  to  dress  every  day  like  a 
poor  crazed  woman,  always  in  fear  of  being  taken 
for  the  widow  of  a  shipwrecked  sailor,  feeling 
exasperated  when  others  looked  furtively  and 
compassionately  at  her,  and  glancing  aside  so 
that  she  might  not  meet  those  glances  that  froze 
her  very  blood. 

She  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  going  in  the 

early  morning  right  to  the  end  of  the  headland, 

on  the  high  cliffs  of  Pors-Even,  passing  behind 

Yann's  old  home,  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  his 

mother  or  little  sisters.    She  went  to  the  extreme 

point  of  the  Ploubazlanec  land,  which  is  outlined 

in  the  shape  of  a  reindeer's  horn  upon  the  gray 

waters  of  the  channel,  and  sat  there  all  day  long 

at  the  foot  of  the  lonely  cross,  which  rises  high 

above  the  immense  waste  of  the  ocean.     There 

are  many  of  these  crosses  hereabout;  they  are 

set  up  on  the  most  advanced  cliffs  of  the  sea- 

bound  land,  as  if  to  implore  mercy  and  to  calm 

260 


All  but  One 

that  restless  mysterious  power  that  draws  men 
away,  never  to  give  them  back,  and  in  preference: 
retains  the  bravest  and  noblest. 

Around  this  cross  stretches  the  ever-green 
waste,  strewn  with  short  rushes.  At  this  great 
height  the  sea  air  was  very  pure  ;  it  scarcely  re- 
tained the  briny  odour  of  the  weeds,  but  was  per- 
fumed with  all  the  exquisite  ripeness  of  Septem- 
ber flowers. 

Far  away,  all  the  bays  and  inlets  of  the  coast 
were  firmly  outlined,  rising  one  above  another ; 
the  land  of  Brittany  terminated  in  ragged  edges, 
which  spread  out  far  into  the  tranquil  surface. 

Near  at  hand  the  reefs  were  numerous,  but 
out  beyond  nothing  broke  its  polished  mirror, 
from  which  arose  a  soft,  caressing  ripple,  light 
and  intensified  from  the  depths  of  its  many  bays. 
Its  horizon  seemed  so  calm,  and  its  depths  so 
soft !  The  great  blue  sepulchre  of  many  Gaoses 
hid  its  inscrutable  mystery,  while  the  breezes, 
faint  as  human  breath,  wafted  to  and  fro  the  per- 
fume of  the  stunted  gorse,  which  had  bloomed 
again  in  the  latest  autumn  sun. 

At  regular  hours  the  sea  retreated,  and  great 

spaces  were  left  uncovered  everywhere,  as  if  the 

Channel  was  slowly  drying  up ;   then  with  the 

same  lazy  slowness,  the  waters  rose  again,  and 

261 


The  Second  Wedding 

continued  their  everlasting  coming  and  going, 
without  any  heed  of  the  dead. 

At  the  foot  of  the  cross,  Gaud  remained,  sur- 
rounded by  these  tranquil  mysteries,  gazing  ever 
before  her,  until  the  night  fell  and  she  could  see 
no  more. 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE    mourner's   VISION 

September  had  passed.  The  sorrowing  wife 
took  scarcely  any  nourishment,  and  could  no 
longer  sleep.  She  remained  at  home  now, 
crouching  low  with  her  hands  between  her  knees, 
her  head  thrown  back  and  resting  against  the 
wall  behind.  What  was  the  good  of  getting  up 
or  going  to  bed  now  ?  When  she  was  thorough- 
ly exhausted  she  threw  herself,  dressed,  upon  her 
bed.  Otherwise  she  remained  in  the  same  posi- 
tion, chilled  and  benumbed  ;  in  her  quiescent 
state,  only  her  teeth  chattered  with  the  cold  ;  she 
had  that  continual  impression  of  a  band  of  iron 
round  her  brows ;  her  cheeks  looked  wasted  ;  her 
mouth  was  dry,  with  a  feverish  taste,  and  at 
times  a  painful  hoarse  cry  rose  from  her  throat, 
and  was  repeated  in  spasms,  while  her  head  beat 

backward  against  the  granite  wall.     Or  else  she 

262 


The  Mourner's  Vision 

called  Yann  by  his  name  in  a  low,  tender  voice, 
as  if  he  were  quite  close  to  her,  whispering  words 
of  love  to  her. 

Sometimes  she  occupied  her  brain  with 
thoughts  of  quite  insignificant  things ;  for  in- 
stance, she  amused  herself  by  watching  the 
shadow  of  the  china  Virgin  lengthen  slowly 
over  the  high  woodwork  of  the  bed,  as  the  sun 
went  down.  And  then  the  agonized  thoughts  re- 
turned more  horrible,  and  her  wailing  cry  broke 
out  again  as  she  beat  her  head  against  the  wall. 

All  the  hours  of  the  day  passed,  and  all  the 
hours  of  evening,  and  of  night,  and  then  the 
hours  of  the  morning.  When  she  reckoned  the 
time  he  ought  to  have  been  back,  she  was  seized 
with  a  still  greater  terror ;  she  wished  to  forget 
all  dates  and  the  very  names  of  the  days. 

Usually  there  is  some  information  concerning 
the  wrecks  off  Iceland ;  those  who  return  have 
seen  the  tragedy  from  afar,  or  else  have  found 
some  wreckage  or  bodies,  or  have  an  indication 
to  guess  the  rest.  But  of  the  L^opoldine  nothing 
had  been  seen,  and  nothing  was  known.  The 
Marie-Jeanne  men,  the  last  to  have  seen  her,  on 
the  2d  of  August,  said  that  she  was  to  have  gone 
on  fishing  farther  towards  the  north,  and,  beyond 
that,  the  secret  was  unfathomable. 

VOL.  20  263  Romances  13 


The  Second  Wedding 

Waiting,  always  waiting,  and  knowing  noth- 
ing !  When  would  the  time  come  when  she 
need  wait  no  longer  ?  She  did  not  even  know 
that ;  and,  now,  she  almost  wished  that  it  might 
be  soon. 

Oh  !  if  he  were  dead ;  let  them  at  least  have 
pity  enough  to  tell  her  so !  Oh !  to  see  her 
darling,  as  he  was  at  this  very  moment,  that  is, 
what  was  left  him !  If  only  the  much-im- 
plored Virgin,  or  some  other  power,  would  do 
her  the  blessing  to  show  her,  by  second-sight, 
her  beloved !  either  living  and  working  hard  to 
return  a  rich  man,  or  else  as  a  corpse,  surrendered 
by  the  sea,  so  that  she  might  at  least  know  a 
certainty. 

Sometimes  she  was  seized  with  the  thought 
of  a  ship  appearing  suddenly  upon  the  horizon ; 
the  Ldopoldine  hastening  home.  Then  she  would 
suddenly  make  an  irreflected  movement  to  rise, 
and  rush  to  look  out  at  the  ocean,  to  see  whether 
it  were  true. 

But  she  would  fall  back.  Alas !  where  was 
this  Ldopoldine  now  ?  Where  could  she  be  ?  Out 
afar,  at  that  awful  distance  of  Iceland,  forsaken, 
crushed,  and  lost. 

All  ended  by  a  never-fading  vision  appearing 

to  her — an  empty,  sea-tossed  wreck,  slowly  and 

264 


The  False  Alarm 

gently  rocked  by  the  silent  gray  and  rose-streaked 
sea ;  almost  with  soft  mockery,  in  the  midst  of 
the  vast  calm  of  deadened  waters. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    FALSE    ALARM 

Two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

It  was  at  night,  especially,  that  she  kept  at- 
tentive to  approaching  footsteps ;  at  the  slightest 
rumour  or  unaccustomed  noise  her  temples  vi- 
brated ;  by  dint  of  being  strained  to  outward 
things,  they  had  become  fearfully  sensitive. 

Two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  On  this  night 
as  on  others,  with  her  hands  clasped  and  her  eyes 
wide  open  in  the  dark,  she  listened  to  the  wind, 
sweeping  in  never-ending  tumult  over  the  heath. 

Suddenly  a  man's  footsteps  hurried  along  the 
path  !  At  this  hour  who  would  pass  now  ?  She 
drew  herself  up,  stirred  to  the  very  soul,  her  heart 
ceasing  to  beat. 

Some  one  stopped  before  the  door,  and  came 
up  the  small  stone  steps. 

He  ! — O  God  ! — he  !   Some  one  had  knocked 

— ^it  could  be  no  other  than  he  !     She  was  up 

now,  barefooted ;  she,  so  feeble  for  the  last  few 

265 


The  Second  Wedding 

days,  had  sprung  up  as  nimbly  as  a  kitten,  with 
her  arms  outstretched  to  wind  round  her  darling. 
Of  course  the  Lhpoldine  had  arrived  at  night,  and 
anchored  in  Pors-Even  Bay,  and  he  had  rushed 
home  ;  she  arranged  all  this  in  her  mind  with  the 
swiftness  of  lightning.  She  tore  the  flesh  off  her 
fingers  in  her  excitement  to  draw  the  bolt,  which 
had  stuck. 

"Eh?" 

She  slowly  moved  backward,  as  if  crushed, 
her  head  falling  on  her  bosom.  Her  beautiful 
insane  dream  was  over.  She  just  could  grasp 
that  it  was  not  her  husband,  her  Yann,  and  that 
nothing  of  him,  substantial  or  spiritual,  had  passed 
through  the  air ;  she  felt  plunged  again  into  her 
deep  abyss,  to  the  lowest  depths  of  her  terrible 
despair. 

Poor  Fantec,  for  it  w^s  he,  stammered  many 
excuses,  his  wife  was  very  ill,  and  their  child  was 
stifling  in  its  cot,  suddenly  attacked  with  a  malig- 
nant sore  throat ;  so  he  had  run  over  to  beg  for 
assistance  on  the  road  to  fetch  the  doctor  from 
Paimpol. 

What  did  all  this  matter  to  her?  She  had 
gone  mad  in  her  own  distress,  and  could  give  no 
thoughts  to  the  troubles  of  others.  Huddled  on 
a  bench,  she  remained  before  him  with  fixed^ 

2^ 


The  False  Alarm 

glazed  eyes,  like  a  dead  woman's  ;  without  listen- 
ing to  him  or  even  answering  at  random  or  look- 
ing at  him.  What  to  her  was  the  speech  the  man 
was  making  ? 

He  understood  it  all;  and  guessed  why  the 
door  had  been  opened  so  quickly  to  him,  and 
feeling  pity  for  the  pain  he  had  unwittingly 
caused,  he  stammered  out  an  excuse. 

"Just  so ;  he  never  had  ought  to  have  dis- 
turbed her — her  in  particular." 

**  I ! "  ejaculated  Gaud,  quickly,  "  why  should 
I  not  be  disturbed  particularly,  Fantec  ?  " 

Life  had  suddenly  come  back  to  her ;  for  she 
did  not  wish  to  appear  in  despair  before  others. 
Besides,  she  pitied  him  now ;  she  dressed  to  ac- 
company him,  and  found  the  strength  to  go  and 
see  to  his  little  child. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  she  re- 
turned to  throw  herself  on  the  bed,  sleep  sub- 
dued her,  for  she  was  tired  out.  But  that  ma 
ment  of  excessive  joy  had  left  an  impression  on 
her  mind,  which,  in  spite  of  all,  was  permanent ; 
she  awoke  soon  with  a  shudder,  rising  a  little 
and  partially  recollecting — she  knew  not  what. 
News  had  come  to  her  concerning  her  Yann. 
In  the  midst   of   her  confusion   of   ideas,   she 

sought  rapidly  in   her  mind  what  it  could  be, 

26; 


The  Second  Wedding 

but  there  was  nothing  save  Fantec's  interrup- 
tion. 

For  the  second  time  she  fell  back  into  her 
terrible  abyss,  nothing  changed  in  her  morbid, 
hopeless  waiting. 

Yet  in  that  short,  hopeful  moment  she  had 
felt  him  so  near  to  her,  that  it  was  as  if  his  spirit 
had  floated  over  the  sea  unto  her,  what  is  called 
a  foretoken  (^pressigne)  in  Breton  land ;  and  she 
listened  still  more  attentively  to  the  steps  outside, 
trusting  that  some  one  might  come  to  her  to 
speak  of  him. 

Just  as  the  day  broke  Yann's  father  entered. 
He  took  off  his  cap,  and  pushed  back  his  splen- 
did white  locks,  which  were  in  curls  like  Yann's, 
and  sat  down  by  Gaud's  bedside. 

His  heart  ached  fully,  too,  for  Yann,  his  tall, 
handsome  Yann,  was  his  first-bom,  his  favourite 
and  his  pride ;  but  he  did  not  despair  yet.  He 
comforted  Gaud  in  his  own  blunt,  affectionate 
way ;  to  begin  with,  those  who  had  last  returned 
from  Iceland  spoke  of  the  increasing  dense  fogs 
that  might  well  have  delayed  the  vessel ;  and 
then,  too,  an  idea  struck  him ;  they  might  pos- 
sibly have  stopped  at  the  distant  Faroe  Islands 
on  their  homeward  course,  whence  letters  were 
so  long  in  travelling.    This  had  happened  to  him 

268 


The  False  Alarm 

once  forty  years  ago,  and  his  own  poor  dead  and 
gone  mother  had  had  a  mass  said  for  his  soul. 
The  Ldopoldine  was  such  a  good  boat,  next  to 
new,  and  her  crew  were  such  able-bodied  seamen. 

Granny  Moan  stood  by  them  shaking  her 
head ;  the  distress  of  her  granddaughter  had 
almost  given  her  back  her  own  strength  and 
reason  ;  she  tidied  up  the  place,  glancing  from 
time  to  time  at  the  faded  portrait  of  Sylvestre, 
which  hung  upon  the  granite  wall  with  its  anchor 
emblems  and  mourning-wreath  of  black  bead- 
work.  Ever  since  the  sea  had  robbed  her  of  her 
own  last  oifspring  she  believed  no  longer  in  safe 
returns;  she  only  prayed  through  fear,  bearing 
Heaven  a  grudge  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

But  Gaud  listened  eagerly  to  these  consoling 
reasonings ;  her  large  sunken  eyes  looked  with 
deep  tenderness  out  upon  this  old  sire,  who  so 
much  resembled  her  beloved  one ;  merely  to 
have  him  near  her  was  like  a  hostage  against 
death  having  taken  the  younger  Gaos ;  and  she 
felt  reassured,  nearer  to  her  Yann.  Her  tears 
fell  softly  and  silently,  and  she  repeated  again 
her  passionate  prayers  to  the  "  Star  of  the  Sea." 

A  delay  out  at  those  islands  to  repair  damages 

was  a  very  likely  event.     She  rose  and  brushed 

her  hair,  and  then  dressed  as  if  she  might  fairly 

269 


The  Second   Wedding 

expect  him.  All  then  was  not  lost,  if  a  seaman, 
his  own  father,  did  not  yet  despair.  And  for  a 
few  days,  she  resumed  looking  out  for  him  again. 

Autumn  at  last  arrived,  a  late  autumn  too,  its 
gloomy  evenings  making  all  things  appear  dark 
in  the  old  cottage,  and  all  the  land  looked  som- 
bre, too. 

The  very  daylight  seemed  crepuscular;  im- 
measurable clouds,  passing  slowly  overhead,  dark- 
ened the  whole  country  at  broad  noon.  The 
wind  blew  constantly  with  the  sound  of  a  great 
cathedral  organ  at  a  distance,  but  playing  pro- 
fane, despairing  dirges ;  at  other  times  the  noise 
came  close  to  the  door,  like  the  howling  of  wild 
beasts. 

She  had  grown  pale,  aye,  blanched,  and  bent 

more  than  ever,  as  if  old  age  had  already  touched 

her  with   its   featherless  wing.     Often   did   she 

finger  the  wedding  clothes  of  her  Yann,  folding 

and  unfolding  them  again  and  again  like  some 

maniac,  especially  one  of  his  blue  woollen  jerseys, 

which  still  had  preserved  his  shape ;  when  she 

threw  it  gently  on   the   table,  it  fell  with  the 

shoulders  and  chest  well  defined ;  so  she  placed 

it  by  itself  in  a  shelf  of  their  wardrobe,  and  left 

k  there,  so  that  it  might  for  ever  rest  unaltered. 

Every  night  the  cold  mists  sank  upon  the 
270 


Wedded  to  the  Sea 

land,  as  she  gazed  over  the  depressing  heath 
through  her  little  window,  and  watched  the  pal- 
try puffs  of  white  smoke  arise  from  the  chimneys 
of  other  cottages  scattered  here  and  there  on  all 
sides.  There  the  husbands  had  returned,  like 
wandering  birds  driven  home  by  the  frost.  Be- 
fore their  blazing  hearths  the  evenings  passed, 
cosy  and  warm ;  for  the  spring-time  of  love  had 
begun  again  in  this  land  of  North  Sea  fishermen. 
Still  clinging  to  the  thought  of  those  islands 
where  he  might  perhaps  have  lingered,  she  was 
buoyed  up  by  a  kind  hope  and  expected  him 
home  any  day. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WEDDED  TO  THE   SEA 

But  he  never  returned.  One  August  night, 
out  off  gloomy  Iceland,  mingled  with  the  furious 
clamour  of  the  sea,  his  wedding  with  the  sea  was 
performed.  It  had  been  his  nurse ;  it  had  rocked 
him  in  his  babyhood,  and  had  afterward  made 
him  big  and  strong;  then,  in  his  superb  man- 
hood, it  had  taken  him  back  again  for  itself 
alone.  Profoundest  mystery  had  surrounded  this 
unhallowed  union.     While  it  went  on.  dark  cur- 

231 


The  Second  Wedding 

tains  hung  pall-like  over  it  as  if  to  conceal  the 
ceremony,  and  the  ghoul  howled  in  an  awful 
deafening  voice  to  stifle  his  cries.  He,  thinking 
of  Gaud,  his  sole,  darling  wife,  had  battled  with 
giant  strength  against  this  deathly  rival,  until  he 
at  last  surrendered,  with  a  deep  death-cry  like 
the  roar  of  a  dying  bull,  through  a  mouth  already 
filled  with  water;  and  his  arms  were  stretched 
apart  and  stiffened  for  ever. 

All  those  he  had  invited  in  days  of  old  were 
present  at  his  wedding.  All  except  Sylvestre, 
who  had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  enchanted  gardens 
far,  far  away,  at  the  other  side  of  the  earth. 


Sf% 


THE  PORTRAITS  OF 
PIERRE  LOTI 


VOL.  20—14 


THE   PORTRAITS   OF 
PIERRE   LOTI 


LoTi  (Lotos)  is  the  name 
of  an  oceanic  flower.  By 
this  name  did  Queen 
Pomar6  herself  christen 
Lieutenant  Louis  Marie 
Julien  Viaud  during  his 
first  visit  to  Tahiti.  Since 
then  readers  of  Pierre 
Loti  have  become  famil- 
iar with  this  pseudonym 
with  which  the  master 
of  dreams  and  exoticism 
signed  all  his  works.  It 
is  unnecessary  here  to  describe  the  gentle  long- 
ing for  home,  the  moving  tenderness^  the  rare 
charm,  the  oriental  grace,  which  emanate  from 
the  soul  of  this  artist  and  traveller.  Let  us 
rather  turn  to  his  portraits  and  learn  what  they  can 
tell  us.     We  see  before  us  a  ipan,  rather  below 


M.   LOUIS  MARIE  JULIEN  VIAUD 

(Pierre  Loti) 

In  the  uniform  of  a  naval  officer 

(1885). 


The  Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

medium  height,  a  slim, 
graceful  figure,  with 
head  erect,  and  in  the 
face  an  expression  of 
determination,  in  which 
at  the  same  time  there 
is  something  of  resig- 
nation. The  eyes — 
those  eyes  which  have 
seen  so  many  seas,  so 
many  countries,  such 
PIERRE  LOTI  magnificent  and  varied 

In  the  costume  of  an  Academician. 
After  an  engraving  made  in  1895.        SCCnCry— haVC    rCtamcd 

that  acuteness  of  per- 
ception which  is  never  dimmed  in  the  pages  of 
his  books. 

Pierre  Loti  is  among  the  number  of  those 
who  never  read.  Blest  mortal,  in  whom  is  re- 
flected all  the  beautiful  landscapes,  the  supple 
and  graceful  figures  of  the  little  Japanese  dancers 
with  their  ruddy  hands,  and  those  royal  sunsets 
of  the  Polynesian  seas !  It  is  his  fresh  and  im- 
pressionable soul  which  gives  to  his  face  that 
intense  look  in  which  one  sees  the  solemn  reflex 
of  those  great  and  desolate  wastes  of  Morocco, 
and  of  Palestine,  the  magnificence  of  Japan, 
the   melancholy   of    Iceland,    even    the   compli- 

276 


The  Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

cated  pageantry   of   the   pagodas  and  the  tem- 
ples. 

On  page  275  is  a  photograph  of  Loti  as  a 
lieutenant  in  the  navy,  taken  in  1885.  It  was 
in  this  simple  uniform,  whose  sombre  colour  ac- 
corded well  with  his  sailor's  heart,  that  he  took  a 
distinguished  part  in  the  expedition  to  Tonquin, 
carrying  with  him  through  the  world  a  heart  full 
of  resignation  and  sweet  fatalism.  It  was  then 
he  wrote  Fleurs  cTEnnui^  Mon  Frlre  Yves,  and 
Picheurs  d'Islande.  In  language  fair  and  dis- 
creet he  tells  of  those  exquisite  Asiatic  beauties, 
fascinating  women  of  his  own  creation,  whose 
names  are  Aziyad^,  Rarahu,  Sulenna,  and  Mme. 
Chrysantheme.  It  is  as  sailor  and  traveller, 
sometimes  at  Rochefort,  at  other  times  in  Ice- 
land or  Pekin,  that  he  is  most  appreciated  by 
those  who  enjoy  in  his  books  the  unexpected 
in  his  travels,  the  spontaneity  of  his  confidences. 

Pierre  Loti  as  Academician,  in  the  second' 
portrait  of  our  little  gallery,  seems  less  familiar 
to  us.  The  green  coat  that  he  wears  does  not 
suit  his  manly  face,  tanned  by  the  equatorial  sun, 
half  so  well  as  his  sailor  s  uniform.  This  picture 
represents  Loti  as  the  dweller  in  Paris,  the  fre- 
quenter of  the  salons,  homes  of  political  and 
academical  intrigues.     This  is  no  longer  the  trav- 

27/ 


The  Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

eller,  near  kinsman  of  the  Gerard  de  Nervals, 
the  Th^ophile  Gautiers,  the  enthusiastic  biog- 
rapher of  the  humble  lives  of  the  old  mariners, 
the  confidant  of  hearts  and  of  nature  in  the  far 
East.     Creature  of  a  bygone  age,  well  suited  to 


PIERRE   LOTI 

In  his  Oriental  salon  at  Rochefort  on-the-Sea. 
After  a  photograph  in  1890. 

the  days  when  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights 
were  as  much  fairy  tales  as  realities,  he  was  born 
to  live  as  Egyptian,  or  Arab.  Who  has  not 
heard  the  tale  of  how  he  once  appeared  at  a 
very  select  Parisian  ball,  dressed  as  a  Pharaoh, 
with  all  the  gorgeous  paraphernalia  of  a  Ra- 
meses ! 

Our  third  engraving  represents  him  dressed 
as  an  Arab  sheik,  wrapped  round  in  the  folds  of 

278 


The  Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

the  ample  white  burnoose,  superb  and  swaggering 
in  his  attitude,  and  wearing  at  his  side  the  tall 
scimitar  incrusted  with  jade  and  precious  stones. 
And  behind  him,  does  one  not  vaguely  look  for 
his  gentle  Scheherezade  ?  Some,  more  wise  than 
others,  have  thought  to  discover  her  in  Pierre 
Loti  himself.  She  is  his  muse ;  she  has  long  been 
a  tenant  of  that  soul,  sometimes  puerile  and 
even  childish.  It  is  to  this  double  sentiment 
that  the  little  portrait  with  which  we  close  these 
pages  refers. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Loti  seems  to  us  to  have 
the  power  to  live  the  life  of  his  heroes,  and,  to 
the  better  understanding  of  them,  himself  to  go 
through  their  manifold  transformations.  At 
Stamboul  with  Aziyad^,  with  Rarahu  under  the 
voluptuous  sky  of  Tahiti,  in  Japan  with  Mme. 
Chrysantheme,  he  is  always  the  dreaming  wan- 
derer, the  confidential  pilgrim  of  deserts  and  of 
hearts. 

It  is  curious  that  this  man,  who  passes  for  a 
poseur  and  vain,  seems  to  have  forgotten  to  have 
himself  photographed  in  the  varied  circumstances 
of  his  travels ;  there  are  fewer  portraits  of  him 
than  of  any  other  contemporary  writer.  In  fact, 
we  found  ourselves  compelled  to  appeal  to  the 
kindness  of  his  friends  to  discover  the  very  lim- 

279 


The   Portraits  of  Pierre  Loti 

ited  number  of  portraits  of  him  which  we  have 

been  able  to  reproduce  here. 

Scant  kit,  indeed,  for  such  a  globe-trotter  as 

Pierre  Loti  I 

OCTAVE   UZANNE. 


Caricature  of  Pierre  Loti 
By  Lucqu6  in  1895. 


THE   END 


28Q 


t 


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